


The Attribute of the Strong

by AnnieVH



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Neverland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6878104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina can't stop Peter Pan from enacting his curse and turning Storybrooke into the New Neverland, a place fully under his control, where children run amok and all the grown-ups get the punishment they deserve. With nothing but a short supply of memory potion and a sketchy plan, the family prepares for the war that is sure to ensue. But can they fight someone as powerful as Pan when only a handful of them remembers their own names?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marooned

**Author's Note:**

> Maddie pointed out that I had 99 stories under the Once Upon a Time fandom posted on AO3, and that I should do something special for fic #100. Well, this is a project I've been thinking about since season 3A concluded and I've posted this chapter as a trial a while back and it did really well. While I still have one project I want to finish before getting fully into this, The Attribute of the Strong is definitely worthy of number 100. I hope everyone enjoys the ride.
> 
>  **Warning** : torture (physical and psychological) throughout the story and captivity.

One could not say that Peter Pan was hard to please. He had spent centuries sleeping in a tree house, with only the bare necessities when it came to shelter and food, and that had always been enough to keep him satisfied. Were it not for the hourglass, slowly taking his time away, he might have even been happy. But to wake up in a real bed, soft and warm, to the smell of clean sheets... well, he couldn't lie. It was an improvement to the lifestyle he used to lead in Neverland. But then again, this was the _New_ Neverland. An improvement was the least he should have expected.

In a lazy motion, every muscle in his body relaxed, as if he hadn't slept a day of his immortality on rough soil, Pan sat up on the bed and looked around. He recognized that room. It had once belonged to the Truest Believer. How fitting that it now belonged to him. The curse had made it a little less boyish than he remembered, more adequate for a young man his age. No more adventure books and figurines of knights and dragons. Pan had no use for such things. But he could see himself using the skateboard that was now resting against the wall. Or the baseball bat. Yes, he could have fun with those things.

The hideous shade of blue that the boy seemed so fond of had also been replaced on the wallpaper and covers, and a dark green seemed to be the predominant color all around. That pleased him immensely. There was no doubt that everything belonged to him now.

Kicking the covers to the side with a swift movement, Pan got up and rushed to the window. It was open. Pan would always keep it that way. And what a view that was. He could see the entire town and beyond from that little window. Surely, it was the best view in the entire town. The clock tower, though, that was his favorite part. It stood dormant and useless in a town where time would remain still forever.

Because time belonged to him now.

And so did every soul in Storybrooke.

 

*

 

Being the only two people who had never gone through a curse before, Emma and Neal were told what to expect, and though Emma could only speak for herself, the whole experience had sounded deeply disturbing. Her mother had used soft words to describe it, such as “like falling asleep” and “minor confusion”. Even Regina, who was usually blunt, said she might be disoriented at first, but that there was nothing to fear.

“You're going to know what to do,” she explained. “The Curse will tell you what you _know_. The only difference is that you will not _believe_ in it, as long as you remember who you are.”

When Emma blinked into a painless awakening, she knew Regina had softened the blow, or perhaps her own experience had been different because it had been her curse to begin with. Emma didn't just _know_ that the man sleeping by her side was Neal Cassidy, her husband of twenty years; she believed with every fiber of her being that she _despised_ him.

The feeling surfaced first, without giving her a memory to justify itself. She hated him. That was the truth and she didn't need a reason to believe it. She couldn't even fight it because she didn't want to. Emma Cassidy had every reason to hate her husband, from the patches of gray hair she could see on the back of his head to the maddening sound of his breathing. How could a human being breathe so loudly? Emma Cassidy was stuck with this man, and there was no doubt she deserved better than what life had given her.

“Swan,” she whispered in the quietness of their bedroom. “Emma Swan.”

Her name was Emma Swan.

She was the Savior.

She was not married.

And she didn't hate Neal. Not anymore.

Neal stirred and rolled on his back.

Emma sat up in bed. She didn't want him to look at her, not until she was sure to have all that hate under control.

But then Neal said, “Couldn't wait another five minutes before you started babbling?” and Emma couldn't stop herself from whipping her head back.

 _No, no, he has to remember_ , she thought. _He_ has _to!_

“Neal?” she tried.

He rubbed his eyes, fighting sleep, giving no indication that he'd heard her.

“Neal-” she tried again.

The name wasn't fully out of her mouth before he snapped, “God, Emma, _what_?”

Both realizations hit at the exact same time: Neal didn't remember her, and he despised her just as much as she was supposed to despise him.

Hell, their plan had started not five minutes ago and it was already backfiring. She wasn't prepared for this. The possibility had been discussed, but she never truly believed Neal would forget about her, if not because of their history, because Gold wouldn't let it. He would have cheated. He would have made sure that his son was given the potion, no matter that Neal had pleaded him not to, or how hard they tried to outsmart his trickery.

Yet, there he was, looking at Emma as if she were the last person he wanted to see right now. And she was his wife.

“I...” she stammered, unsure of how to proceed. There were words in the back of her head, pounding, begging to be unleashed, but those words were not hers. They belonged to Pan and she didn't want to give in to them. “I... think I had a bad dream.”

Neal scoffed, “That's cute,” and sat up.

Emma looked at the back of his head again. It hadn't occurred to her before, but now that she was thinking more clearly she could see it. Those patches of gray hair hadn't been there five minutes ago – twenty four hours? Two days? How long ago had she been standing on main street, waiting for Pan's Curse to hit? It wasn't a significant change. He hadn't aged ten years in the blink of an eye, but he didn't look like a young man anymore. In fact, when he got off the bed, he let out a tired groan, as if the effort was exhausting, and rubbed his lower back.

“I'll take a shower first,” he announced. “Since I can't seem to sleep in my own house.”

Emma didn't reply, still trying to make sense of things.

The lack of answer made him turn around and frown, accentuating the new wrinkles around his eyes. “Something's different.”

Emma raised her eyes, hopeful. “Yes?”

“You're too quiet,” he said. “Why are you so quiet?”

“I just...” Emma shrugged. “I don't know.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “Right. Get your head together before the kid wakes up.”

Kid?

Henry!

On cue, somebody knocked on their bedroom door and Emma jumped to her feet at the same time Neal locked himself in the bathroom. Her mind was screaming Henry's name, over and over, afraid it might be forgotten if she let go of it. But there was nothing to fear. Henry had made it to this land and he was their son and she would keep him safe. As long as she had Henry by her side, everything was going to be-

Emma opened the bedroom door.

The boy standing on the other side of it was not Henry.

It was Peter Pan.

“Morning, mom!” he said, cheerfully. “Are we having breakfast or what?”

When the curse whispered affection and joy inside her head, Emma truly thought she had lost her mind.

 

*

 

The real challenge was the Savior. And Rumple, but Pan knew the curse would take care of Rumple. The Savior, though, she was special. If there was anyone who'd be safe from his Curse, it would be her. He had to make sure she had been neutralized before anything else. He had underestimated Emma Swan and her family in the past, and that had almost costed him everything. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

When she opened the bedroom door and looked at him, Pan smiled. That was _exactly_ how he had envisioned her. It was mesmerizing, he couldn't take his eyes away. If necessary, he could always find someone else to take her place but... she looked so _perfect._

 _Oh please, can I keep her?,_ he thought, and even to himself he sounded like a whiny child, but he couldn't help it. This was the mother he wanted, the thought that she might not belong to him might break his heart.

“Peter,” she said, as he wished her a good morning. There was a frown on her face, making every little wrinkle visible.

Pan awaited, his heart pounding. If she didn't know who he was, that would be nothing but a glitch in the system. There were ways to fix that. But if she remembered anything, even the smallest detail, then he had a problem. Well, two. First, how to get rid of the Savior. Second, where to get a new mother that looked the part as much as she did.

But the confusion on her face dissolved into a yawn, and then became a smile.

“God, is it time already?” she asked, a hint of affection in her voice.

Pan laughed. “Yes, lazy head! Don't you want pancakes?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I really shouldn't,” she said, one hand rubbing her flat stomach. “You know what that will do to my figure.”

“Blueberry pancakes are still fruit.”

Emma Swan's smile turned into laughter, a girly, musical sound that he immediately fell in love with. Pan had never heard her laugh in Neverland, so he couldn't say if that trait was a result of the Curse, or if she had always sounded that way. But it was still _exactly_ the way he'd expected it to be.

“I'll just have a grapefruit, Pete,” she said. “A lady has to look her best at all times. But lets make one for your dad. You know he's always grumpy when it's rent day.”

Pan stretched his neck to peek inside the bedroom. If only he could get a glimpse of Baelfire, to see if he, too, met his expectations. But he was nowhere to be found.

“He's taking a shower,” Emma told him. Her right hand touched his cheek, gently. Motherly. “I guess I get to keep you all to myself for a little while.”

“Well, there's grandpa, but you know he's never very chatty.”

Emma Swan narrowed her eyes for a second. Then, she smiled again, recognition getting to her eyes.

“Now, now, don't be cruel, Pete. You know grandpa loves you.”

“I know, mom. I'm just teasing.”

She shook her head, but didn't seem upset. “You funny little boy!” she said, and kissed his cheek. It was so spontaneous and honest that Pan was taken aback. He tried to cover his shock with a childish protest, “Mom! I'm not a little boy anymore!”

Emma Swan said, “You will _always_ be a little boy, Peter.”

Pan smiled at her.

His mother smiled back. “At least to your mom.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, how about those pancakes?”

She was about to close the bedroom door behind her when the doorbell rang through the house.

“Who could that be?” she wondered. “Are you expecting friends?”

“No,” he answered. “Why don't you get that while I go check on grandpa?”

“That is a _wonderful_ idea, sweetheart,” she doted. “You are _such_ a clever boy.”

 

*

 

This was _not_ how things were supposed to go, and Regina did not like it when things didn't go according to plan. Granted, their plan was a sketchy one, at best, but the point still stood. Awakening after the first Curse was cast felt like waking up from a long nightmare to a familiar setting that made you feel safe. Pan's Curse felt like the complete opposite. It was confusing, unpleasant, and it was already giving her a headache. Or maybe that was the memory potion.

Henry's name was the first word to come to her mind, confirming that, yes, the memories of herself were still intact. She was a mother. She had a son. Her son's name was Henry. She had no idea where he was.

Regina sat on her bed – no. Cot. She was sleeping in a _cot_ in what seemed to be a bachelor apartment, and not a nice one at that.

“I guess he didn't make me the Mayor,” she said to the empty room.

Immediately, her hands grabbed for her hair. Regina sighed as she discovered it was still the same length. Good. If Pan had given her the Mary Margaret treatment, she wouldn't be able to keep up the facade. She'd just stalk the little bastard and rip his heart out, magic or no magic.

Speaking of which...

Regina closed her eyes and concentrated. It didn't take her long to notice something very faint, very distant. It wasn't coming from inside of her, but there was definitely something surrounding her that hadn't been in Storybrooke when _she_ was the one to cast the Dark Curse. Back then, there had been magic in certain objects she brought along for the journey. The potions and the hearts, mostly; Jefferson's hat was faint, but it still worked. Other than that, Storybrooke was barren of magic.

In here, she could feel it in the air, the way she felt it sometimes when she was around a very powerful witch or wizard. Magic was emanating from somewhere, or maybe _someone_ , but it was out of her reach. Whether that was a complete disaster, or a sliver of hope, it remained to be seen.

Something tried to get her attention. A thought that she immediately recognized as not one of her own, so she held it back. Twenty eight years of managing her Curse had taught her better than to give in to just anything it tried to suggest. When she had been the one in control, it had been easy to select what belonged to her previous life, and what belonged to Regina Mills, Mayor of Storybrooke, but even then she had made mistakes. Sometimes, a piece of the past slipped through, and sometimes the opposite happened, and she caught herself forgetting everything about the Enchanted Forest and her true self, at times for days.

This was a luxury she couldn't afford here. This wasn't her Curse, and she had to be very careful with everything she allowed into her head.

The first thought she let in was short, but to the point: _I am late_.

“Alright. What am I late for?”

Instead of opening her mind, she went to her closet and looked at the clothes inside. What she saw made her cringe. A pair of jeans, a couple of shirts, and a uniform. She wasn't sure what it was for, but judging by its style, a maid or housekeeper seemed like a good enough guess. At the bottom of her closet, to add insult to injury, she found a pair of worn out white sneakers.

Regina huffed, boiling with anger. “I will have his head on a silver plate!”

Fifteen minutes later, she was locking her door and walking down four flights of stairs in what seemed to be an old building ready to fall apart. As it turned out, the rest of the city was not doing much better. The first thing Regina noticed was the graffiti on the walls. She thought it would disappear as she left her neighborhood, which seemed more fitting to the peasantry than a Queen. But the myriad of drawings continued on, violating walls, windows, traffic signs, and even the sidewalk. Whoever had been cursed with the Mayorship of this town better do something about it.

 _This isn't a town_.

Regina stopped on her hideous white sneakers at the thought that slipped through. If it wasn't a town, then what was it?

The answer came within seconds, a single word, but it felt to Regina like it had been sneered into her brain, as if Pan was mocking her newfound helplessness. She had to confirm it. She had to be sure. She started running towards the docks, barely registering the rest of town as it rushed by – although it was hard to miss the big red sign that said _Ruby's_ in front of the diner.

Her steps only slowed down as she reached the docks. Breathless, Regina looked around. She noticed the boats before the water, floating carcasses, sprayed and broken. How they managed to stay above water was a miracle. Or magic. Probably the latter. On shore, the remains of what used to be the Jolly Roger were tilted on the sand, a big leak on its shell. In front of it, a large and colorful sign, the only one in town that didn't seem to be spray-painted. It happily announced: _Welcome to Strybrooke Island_.

Regina looked at the water, as far as her eyes could reach. There was nothing there. And if she went to the town line, she knew it would have been replaced by shore. Pan had trapped them. There was no way out.

 

*

 

Emma grasped the handrail as she walked down the stairs to keep her hands from shaking. It was still flowing through her body, that rush of joy that had overcome her when she saw Peter Pan's face. In jeans and a t-shirt, he looked like a regular teenager, the only difference being that he elicited on her such a strong response. It wasn't love. A curse couldn't recreate love. But it was still powerful enough to be mistaken by it. And it was undeniably maternal. If she didn't know what the real thing felt like, she might have been fooled into believing the lie.

She had to get her head together. And she had to free herself from those... feelings? Could she even call them that? Whatever the hell they were, it wasn't easy to get rid of them. She had opened the door and invited them in. On the one hand, it had been helpful. Emma didn't think she could have pulled such a complicated con on her own, especially without Neal. But on the other hand, she still had a smile on her face. Every cell in her body was telling her to adore Peter, her son, her only child, the reason of her happiness and why she remained in a loveless marriage to begin with. All for the boy. It didn't matter that her mind was currently revolting against the madness.

_My name is Emma Swan. I was born in the Enchanted Forest. I was never married. I have a son. My son's name is Henry._

No, that didn't make sense. It didn't agree with what she was feeling. She knew in her bones who her _real_ child was. And she knew just how much she was supposed to love him.

 _My name is Emma Swan_ , she insisted, her steps faltering, her hands holding on to the handrail to keep her from falling. _My name is Emma Swan. I was born in the Enchanted Forest. I was never married. I never married Neal. We have a son. My son's name is Henry Mills_.

The doorbell rang again, persistent, annoying.

By the time Emma opened the door, she was ready to explode. But the sight of Regina standing there was such a shock that all the voices in her head quieted down immediately. For the first time since Emma had known her, she had no make up on, which made her lips look very thin in comparison. Though they were about the same height, Emma felt like she was towering over her and those unflattering white sneakers. The uniform she was wearing, of a dark shade of green, rang something familiar inside her head, but surprise kept her from saying anything.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!” Regina snapped, staring at the former Sheriff like a Queen who just found a peasant sitting in her throne. “I am _your_ maid?”

“ _Excuse me_?” Emma snapped back, indignation running through her veins just like joy had a minute ago. “Is this the way to address your employer?”

Regina took a step back, her arrogance succumbing immediately. “I... no. Mrs. Cassidy.”

“And who told you to use the front door?” she demanded. That made her particularly peeved, though she didn't really know why. “Haven't I given you a key to the kitchen?”

“Yes. Mrs. Cassidy. You did.”

“Then get there, _immediately._ You're already late.”

Emma slammed the door. It felt natural. No, it felt _right_. She had every right to give Regina Mills, her employee, a piece of her mind for not being on time and making her go though the trouble of greeting her at the front door. She had to be put her back in her place.

 _God, what is happening to me?_ , she thought. She had to get these... urges under control. This love and anger, they did not belong to her.

Emma walked quickly to the kitchen and waited by the door. It must have taken Regina a moment to recover from the shock, because she didn't reappear for a while. When she finally did, her thin lips were pressed tight and angry, but she was holding her tongue as she walked through the backdoor and into the kitchen.

Emma said, “I'm not sure the potion worked.”

Regina blinked at her, one hand still on the knob. Then, she looked over Emma's shoulder to make sure they were alone and closed the door behind herself.

“If you're not even going to be careful about it, there was no point in taking it in the first place,” she scorned. Make up or no make up, she still knew how to look threatening.

“It's fine, he's upstairs.”

“But he can come down at any moment.”

“No,” Emma said, firmly. “He won't. He'll be too busy gloating.”

Regina thought of asking, but decided they didn't have a lot of time. Instead, she said, “That scene at the door, was that you or-”

“It was something else. Someone else. I'm not sure.” Emma rubbed her temples. “This is very confusing.”

“It's your cursed persona leaking through. With time, you'll learn to manage it.”

“We don't have time, though.”

“Well, the tower clock is once again stuck at 8:15, so I'd say we actually _do_ have time.”

Emma shook her head.

Regina asked, “Is Henry here?”

“No,” she answered, not knowing if she should feel relieved or terrified. “I hoped he might be with you?”

Regina shook her head. “I'll stop by the hospital, check if he's a patient there. Though I hope the pirate's done a better job hiding him than that.”

“He will. You heard Gold. Nobody hides treasured things like a pirate.”

Regina didn't look convinced. She asked, “And how about Neal?”

“No,” Emma answered, quietly. “It wasn't him.” After a beat, she added, “He hates me.”

“It's not real.”

“Doesn't make it any easier.”

“No,” Regina agreed. “I suppose it doesn't. But we need to focus.”

“I know.”

“So, he didn't drink the potion.”

“No. But you and I have.”

“I honestly thought Gold would have cheated.”

“I know. Seems like he didn't get the chance.”

“That leaves Tinker Bell, David, Mary Margaret, and Belle. And my bets are on Belle. I can see Rumple getting it wrong once, but not twice. Besides, Neal's tough and he's faced Pan before, Belle he would protect at all costs.”

“Have you seen any of them?” Emma asked.

“Not yet, but I came straight here. After checking the beach, that is.”

Emma smirked. “You're not exactly employee of the month.”

“No, but I did find out something that you're not going to like.”

Emma sighed. “What, more bad news?”

“If you think being stranded on an island with no possibility of getting out is bad, then yes, more bad news.”

Emma stared at her. It wasn't even eight in the morning, and she was already exhausted.

“I need coffee,” she announced. “Lots and lots of coffee.”

 

*

 

More than anyone, Rumpelstiltskin knew that Peter Pan could be cruel. And most of all, he knew that Peter Pan enjoyed his own cruelty, especially when Rumpelstiltskin was on the receiving end. There was just something in his eyes, a manic spark that reveled in seeing his suffering. Rumpelstiltskin had long given up trying to understand why and just accepted it as part of the man his father had become. A man who hated him for his mere existence. So as the green cloud approached, he held on to Belle's hand. He knew his punishment would be severe. There was no one Pan hated more than his son. Belle would be part of it, he was sure. And Bae... he didn't even want to know what Pan had in store for Bae. And there was nothing he could do to keep them safe, other than making sure they both got a dose of memory potion.

Four doses to be sorted out between nine people. Well, seven. The pirate had refused it, and Rumpelstiltskin was sure he wouldn't need it. Pan wouldn't take him to this New Neverland only to make him forget exactly why he was there: because he was a lost boy whose father despised him, and now he'd have to watch Pan torture the ones he loved the most, knowing there was nothing he could do about it.

However, his awakening was uneventful. That alone was enough to make him suspicious that something terrible was about to happen. Almost thirty years ago, he had woken up in Storybrooke with a splitting headache and more memories than he knew what to do with. There were images of cities he'd never been to, the faces of people he'd never met, and the certainty that something was not right, that there was a missing piece in the puzzle that was his life. For twenty eight years, he lived without a reason, every second of his life a well rehearsed routine Regina's Curse had planted inside his head.

Waking up in Pan's Curse was different. There were no fake memories, and his father had been quite generous with the setting of his awakening: a comfortable bedroom, with a good bed. Rumple hadn't put it beyond Pan to shove him to the gutter, to spend eternity sleeping in a cardboard box.

 _Something is wrong_ , he thought, but he couldn't identify anything immediately unpleasant about his situation. He had his own memories and he had a good home. The curse wasn't even _trying_ to give him a false life. All in all, it was a good start. Though he knew better than to be hopeful, he dared think, _Perhaps the Curse failed. He must have done something wrong_.

Yes, that was a possibility. After all, Pan loved no one but himself. Rumpelstiltskin had guessed that his best option for a sacrifice would have been Felix, but he wouldn't be surprised to find out there was nothing that Pan loved enough to leave a hole in his heart. And if the Curse had failed, he could just get up and look for-

Rumpelstiltskin stared at the ceiling. His body wasn't moving. He had told himself to get out of bed, but his body wasn't moving.

 _No_ , he thought, _no, you can move. You have to make an effort._

He _was_ making an effort. He was pushing himself up on the bed. He was putting his feet flat on the floor. He was walking to the door and turning it open and he was getting out of the-

Except that his body was not doing as it was told, and he was still lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

_Look around. See where the door is._

His eyes moved from one side to the other, but his neck refused to budge. From that position, there wasn't much that he could see.

_Move your fingers. Move your toes. For goodness's sake, just move anything._

Nothing.

 _Don't panic_ , he told himself, though the order was useless at this point. His heart was already racing and the horrible scenarios he'd thought of before falling asleep were being replaced by much more horrific ones. Pan had just turned him into a rag doll, one that could _feel_ everything, but could do nothing about it. If he wanted to come in and cut pieces out of him- _Don't! Don't think about Pan. Don't panic. Breathe. Concentrate. Your mouth. Try to open your mouth._

To his surprise, it worked. His lips parted, just a little, barely enough to allow him to breathe through them, but that would do.

_Good. You can still speak, then. Shout. Belle will come. If she's anywhere near the house, she will come._

Silence.

_Shout. You need to shout._

Silence.

 _Please, shout,_ please _, you need to-_

“You're going to hurt yourself.”

Rumpelstiltskin's whole body wanted to jolt out of fright, but his muscles refused to react. All he felt was his own heart, skipping a beat as he realized Pan was in the room with him. And he couldn't even see him from that position.

“Do you like your bed?” he taunted, invisible. “I picked it especially for you. Want to see what it does?”

Movement. He had to get out of bed. Pan was coming. But his father just approached his bedside, coming into his field of vision but not sparing him a glance, and clicked on something. Rumple heard the sound of a motor and felt the bed move. It was so slow it was unnerving, for all he knew the bed would be folded in half, his body along with it. But it turned out to be only a hospital bed, pushing him to an upright position.

“Cool, isn't it?” Pan said, once it had stopped moving, leaving Rumpelstiltskin half-seated on the bed. Pan frowned. “Huh. _Cool_. That's a funny word, isn't it? I suppose I'll have to get used to slang now.”

Rumple moved his eyes as far to the left as he could to get a better look at him. Pan seemed to be wearing a t-shirt.

_This is still Storbrooke. Or at least, it's the Land Without Magic._

Magic! Did he have any magic left?

“How about we talk?” Pan suggested, taking a step closer. Definitely fashion from the Land Without Magic. The Curse couldn't have taken them very far. “Well, poor choice of words. I say _we,_ but it's going to be mostly me. I think you realize that by now, don't you?”

_He's bragging. He's confident. That's a good thing. He thinks he's won and he's going to get arrogant, and when he makes a mistake-_

“You need to blink once for yes,” Pan instructed.

As a petty act of defiance, Rumpelstiltskin stared at him.

Patiently, Pan captured his left index finger and stroked it gently with his thumb. “There is being brave, and there is being stupid, laddie, and we both know you are not hero material. You have no idea where you are, you cannot move, and even if there was someone who could help you – which there isn't – you are unable to scream for help. So, before I lose my temper, I will ask again: do you realize just how much trouble you are in right now?”

Pan towered over him, a scrawny teenager with the eyes of the devil, staring into his soul. His thumb rubbed a circle around the knuckle on Rumple's index finger. Anyone would have mistaken it for a loving gesture, but Rumpelstiltskin knew a threat when he saw one.

He blinked once.

“Good boy.”

Pan reached out for his face.

_Don't touch me!_

The quiet plea was ignored and Pan brushed his hair away from his forehead.

“That wasn't so hard, was it?”

He blinked.

 _It was_.

Pan smiled at him and pulled back. “You've always been a stubborn one, Rumple. We'll have to work on that.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked around. The room was very bland, with nothing on the walls other than a book shelf with half a dozen books. There was no window to the outside world. The only furniture was a dresser on the opposite wall, with a mirror hanging above it where Rumpelstiltskin could see himself. That had to be part of his punishment. He looked pathetic, lying in bed with covers up to his chest. The strands of gray hair seemed to have multiplied during his sleep and now took over most of his head. There was stubble on his cheeks, his hair was a mess, and Pan had shoved him into a sickening blue pajama he'd like nothing more than to trade for a three piece suit. He was over two centuries of age, but this was the first time he actually felt old. No, more than that. He felt like an invalid.

Pan turned to look at the mirror.

“Oh, c'mon, grandpa,” he cooed. “You don't look nearly as bad as you could.”

He grabbed him by the chin. Rumple felt his throat closing at the touch as his vocal chords tried to produce something threatening to say ( _Get away from me!_ ), but all he managed was a pitiful grumble.

“You still have some meat on your bones,” Pan said. “And not as many wrinkles as you should have at your age. But then again, I suppose that is the benefit of immortality. You're welcome, by the way.”

Rumpelstiltskin knew keeping him immortal was not an act of kindness, so he didn't fool himself by being grateful. If Pan had chosen to maintain him that way, it meant he still needed his son to be alive to hold on to his own youth. His Curse had not been strong enough to break the blood magic. It also meant – and that was the important part – that there was still magic in this land, even if he couldn't reach it. Pan could still be killed, as long as Rumpelstiltskin was willing to lay down his own life. And as long as he still had the dagger.

“Pete!” someone called. The voice was sweet and distant, but Rumpelstiltskin recognized it as Emma Swan's. “Come down, dear! Lets have breakfast!”

Pan smirked and turned to the door. “I'm coming, mother!”

 _Mother? No, she can't be- she had the potion. She_ has _to remember._

If his potion hadn't been enough to keep Emma's memories, then Bae... and Belle...

“I think it's time to go, now,” Pan said, getting up. “Mom is calling. But I look forward to spending some quality time with you, grandpa. We have a lot to talk about.”

_No, don't you dare leave me here._

“Your nurse will be up shortly. I've made sure to make her very reliable. I wouldn't want mom and dad to have to waste time having to feed you or, uhn,” he chuckled, “changing your diapers.”

 _We are not done!_ _You have to tell me what you did-_

“Bye, grandpa.” He dared to give his forehead a kiss. “I'll come and see you after school.”

_COME BACK HERE AND TELL ME WHAT YOU DID WITH THEM!_

Pan must have known what was in his head. He must have seen the desperation in his eyes. But he chose to ignore it and leave the room, turning the lights off in the process. Rumpelstiltskin blinked in the dark, trying to get used to it, but even if he did there was only his own reflection on the opposite wall to keep him company.

 _Where are they?_ , he thought, and he couldn't think of a single answer to that question, but he knew it wouldn't be pleasant.

 

*

 

First came the pain, unexpected and massive, impossible to ignore. Then came the realization that she was trapped, which was only followed by the realization that she was trapped _again_.

_No, not this, please, anything but this._

Where was she? What was happening? Did she remember who she was?

_Belle. Belle. My name is Belle. Where am I?_

Somewhere dark and tight. She couldn't move without hitting a wall. She could barely breathe.

_Where did he put me? Where am I? Rumple? Rumple, where am I?_

She tried opening her mouth, but it only ignited the pain again, making her dizzy. There was something on her mouth. She tried to raise a hand to touch it, but in her rush she only managed to hit her wrist on something solid right above her.

_I need to calm down. I need to get out of here._

Belle breathed, waiting for her eyes to get used to the dark. The first thing she saw was her own reflection. Big, blue eyes full of tears of pain and fright. Where her mouth was supposed to be, there was only a thin line that had been forced together by thick black stitches that went from above her lips to underneath it, binding them together. Her lips, however, could not be seen. She could feel them with the tip of her tongue, twisted inside her mouth, but that was it.

Carefully, not to hurt herself again, she reached for what was in front of her. Glass. A glass wall. A box. Why had she been trapped into a glass box?

 _This isn't a glass box,_ her mind suddenly realized. _This is a coffin._

The word made Belle heave through the stitches on her mouth. She was sick. She was going to be sick. She had to get out of here. She didn't belong in a coffin. She wasn't dead. Her tiny fists banged on the glass; if she managed to break it, she'd spend a very long time picking shreds out of her fists, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She just wanted out of there.

_I need to find Rumple. I need to get out of here and find Rumple. I don't belong here. I am not dead. I don't belong in a coffin. I have to-_

“Well, well! What a predicament.”

Belle startled and stopped banging her fists on the glass. She lied completely still. Was she imagining things? Was that Pan's voice? If it was his voice, than she'd be better off staying quiet and actually playing dead.

 _Maybe he came to bury you_ , she thought, bringing tears to her eyes. Rumple had warned her that Pan would be crueler to her and Bae. And wasn't it cruel to actually make her witness her own burial through a glass coffin? She'd see the dirt coming down on her, unable to stop it, punching the lid helplessly with her useless fists, unable to even scream for help as-

 _Stop it_ , she told herself. _Don't think about it. That wasn't Pan. You know that wasn't Pan._

No, indeed not. It was a woman's voice, come to think of it. Belle lied quietly, waiting for her to speak again.

Instead, the woman came into view. A face Belle didn't recognize, but it didn't matter. It wasn't Pan's face, and she was no longer alone in the dark.

“Now tell me, my dear, how did you end up in there?”

 

 


	2. Claustrophobia

To add insult to injury, it was her own house. Pan hadn't even bothered to redecorate. Her pristine kitchen was exactly as she had left it, her expensive furniture hadn't been moved, even the apple cider she had prepared two weeks before was still there – even though the only thing left of her apple tree was a dead stub in the middle of the garden. Pan had only added one thing to the Evil Queen's manor: sugar. Regina would've never allowed so many treats inside the house, especially if Henry still lived in it. But, as it seemed, Mr. and Mrs. Cassidy didn't mind that their teenage son stuffed himself with junk food. Her set of crystal vases was filled with sweets, the cereal she had just placed on the breakfast table had no nutritional value whatsoever, and she was currently fighting the urge to bake Peter Pan a chocolate cake. Extra fudge.

 _This town better have a good dentist_.

At least she was already familiar with the kitchen appliances and could keep the Curse at bay while she prepared coffee and talked to Emma.

“We'll have to be very careful,” Regina said, her voice low. Pan was still upstairs, and he'd take his time taunting Rumpelstiltskin, that much they could depend on, but they couldn't get too confident and make a mistake. “We need to find Henry, that should be a priority. Or else, we won't be able to keep him safe. Someone should always keep an eye on Pan, but we'll have to work out the details later. I'm going to check my vault after hours, there has to be something in there that we can use. As soon as we get everybody-”

Regina turned around to find Emma staring at her own reflection on the back of a spoon, her fingers pulling at the corners of her eyes, playing with her new wrinkles.

“Did you hear anything I said?” Regina asked, annoyed.

Emma immediately dropped the spoon and looked back. “Yes. No. No, I got distracted.”

“By your own reflection?”

Emma stared at her. Yes, that was exactly what she'd been doing, there was no excuse for it. The spoon had been sitting on the table and, for the past couple of minutes, she couldn't stop wondering if that wrinkle around her left eye was new. She knew it probably was, but it still bothered her. It made her feel old and ugly.

“What kind of personality – or lack thereof – did Pan give you?” Regina asked.

“I'm new to this,” Emma answered, defensive. “It's hard to keep it under control. Oh god. I hope I don't end up using Botox, or getting a lift. **”**

“Is that what it wants you to do?”

Emma searched her feelings. Then she winced. “Yes.”

“Then do it. If that's what Pan wants, he should have it.”

Emma got up, “I hope the side effects of this curse aren't permanent.”

“Where are you going?”

“I'm calling my son down for breakfast. It's what I want to do right now.”

“Alright.”

“I'm having a grapefruit, by the way.”

“Sure.”

“Slice it in half. And bring me a warm cup of coffee. Warm, I said, not scalding hot. Make it black. And two slices of whole wheat bread with light butter, but not too much light butter. And Mr. Cassidy is having-”

“Is this all part of your Curse as well?” Regina asked, narrowing her eyes at Emma.

Despite the situation, Emma smiled. “Of course. But I'm actually enjoying it.”

When Emma left, Regina took three deep breaths, trying to get her anger under control. If Pan saw even the slightest trace of bitterness on her face, he wouldn't hesitate. He'd have her killed, or committed. At least, that's what she'd have done. Or rather, what she had actually done in the past. This time though, she was on the other side, ready to be helplessly tossed around as per Pan's design.

Regina closed her eyes for just a second and focused on the whispers in her mind. The frustration at her disappointing job and life in general, the resentment towards Mrs. Cassidy and her irritating quirks that Regina could never satisfy, the despise she felt for Mr. Cassidy who didn't even bother to look her in the eye when she was speaking, the absolute _disgust_ for Mr. Gold – physical disgust, nothing like the mutual despise they had nurtured over the years. Regina was about to wonder why that was when the knowledge hit her.

This wasn't just a maid's uniform; it was also a nurse's. What followed was the image of Rumpelstiltskin, small and pathetic, withering away in a hospital bed. And then came the long list of duties she had as a nurse, all of them unpleasant. The old man depended on her for _everything_. Why didn't they shove him in a retirement home anyway? Regina would gladly give up the hours and the money if that meant she didn't have to sponge bathe the old man _again_.

Underneath it all, there was a sliver of sympathy, a warm place in her bitter heart. Their lovely son Peter, whom she helped raise since he was a little boy. What a charming young man who deserved so much better than what he got. Just the thought of seeing him and baking him something that would make him happy made it easier to get out of bed every morning.

 _Emma is right_ , Regina thought, sick to her stomach. _This better not be permanent._

 

*

 

Pan walked down the stairs, two steps at a time. Everything was in its due place, at least inside the house. Rumple was in no position to cause trouble. The Savior was behaving as expected. And the Evil Queen had been effectively neutralized, or so it seemed. He'd heard Mother Dearest screaming at her from the second floor and what he'd heard seemed promising. Now there was only Baelfire left – well, Baelfire and the entire town – and he simply couldn't wait.

Mother was waiting at the dining table, posed in her chair like a queen, her back straight and her chin up, fingers tapping the polished wood impatiently as she waited for their lazy maid to bring the coffee.

Pan approached her from behind and gave her cheek a kiss. She didn't even seem shocked, only pleased.

“What an affectionate son!” she beamed.

Pan sat across from her and poured a generous dose of cereal into his bowl. He wasn't sure what it would taste like, but something told him he'd enjoy it. That he loved this sugary, colorful treat, and the more he had, the better.

“Don't forget the milk, my darling,” Mother said, handing the carton over. “It's good for you.”

“Thanks, mom.”

The first spoon went into his mouth and sent a shock to his nerve system. This was delicious. Pan wasn't one to leave Neverland often, and even as the years went by, he didn't grow curious of the pleasures that lied beyond the island. But now he knew he'd been missing out on so much.

The door opened and Pan's breath got caught in his throat, a sound that made Mother look up full of worry.

“Is everything alright, my dear?” she asked.

 _It remains to be seen_ , Pan thought. However, when Baelfire walked in, he knew that yes, everything was alright. Everything was perfect.

Neal Cassidy came into their dining room already dressed for business. He looked nothing like Mr. Gold, though, and Pan was glad about that. After all, his father was his own man. Where Rumple favored three-piece suits, Neal had chosen a practical black suit and white shirt combination. Something that wouldn't take him long and that would get him out of the house faster. No pocket square, no paisley ties, not even a hint of color. Even the silver watch around his wrist refused to shine.

There was a confidence in his step that Pan had never seen before. Neal Cassidy had spent a lifetime trying to become invisible, but Pan had just given him the strength to own the entire town, and it showed. His steps were full of purpose, and his eyes looked straight ahead, unafraid of being seen. There was nothing and no one to fear. This town belonged to him.

Pan tried, “Dad.”

Neal didn't break his stride to the head of the table, but looked at Pan and the hardness on his face dissolved into a smile. “Morning, buddy. Did you sleep well?” A loving hand ran through his hair. The gesture had the familiarity of a long-lost memory and Pan had to resist the urge to lean into the touch. Baelfire didn't only look the part with his graying hair and imposing figure. Just like Emma, he _felt_ right. Together, they were the perfect pair.

Father looked down at the table. “Where is the newspaper?”

Mother shrugged. “Regina must have forgotten it.”

“Why do we keep her around? I'm sure there are other maids in town.”

“Who'd be willing to take care of your father?”

Pan said, “I'm sure she's just having a bad day, dad.”

Neal looked at him again, his eyes soft. “I'm sure you're right, Petey. But that's no excuse for her sloppy service. Ah, there it is!”

Regina came into the room carrying a large tray, which she promptly put down on the table, wishing Father a good morning. Neal didn't bother to reply and snapped his newspaper off the tray. The brusque movement seemed to catch their maid off guard, but, after a second, she continued to serve their food.

Pan leaned closer and looked her in the eye. Putting on his most arrogant smile, he asked, “And how was your night, Regina?”

The Evil Queen looked at him a moment too long, and her hands stilled on the tray. But then she continued moving with the practiced motion of a person who did the exact same thing every day.

“It was lovely, Peter,” she told him, forcing on a smile. “Thank you for asking. I read a good book and went to bed early-”

“Regina, we don't pay you for your life story,” Emma said, and Father actually chuckled, eyes on the news.

“Of course, Mrs. Cassidy. I'm sorry.”

“Where are the eggs?” Father asked, when Regina finished setting Emma's grapefruit and toast on the table, but only gave him a cup of coffee.

She hesitated, then admitted, “I'm sorry, Mr. Cassidy. They were burned. But I'll have another batch ready for you in no time.”

“For goodness's sake,” he sighed, rubbing his brow. “Regina, it's not that difficult.”

“Of course, sir. It won't take long-”

She was cut off by the doorbell. For a moment, she stared at her bosses, unsure of what to do. Then Emma said, “Well, go get it.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cassidy.”

She was barely gone when Father turned to Mother and said, “You see my point?”

 

*

 

Emma didn't want to welcome all that anger into her heart. She'd hated Neal before and she didn't want to do it again, not when they were finally getting back on track. But, to her surprise, the moment he appeared in the dining room her mind went still, all that rage that had taken over her minutes before gone. It was nothing like when she'd woken up by his side. Neal was her husband, and while there was no love between them, she didn't despise him, not right now. How could she, when they were sharing breakfast together, husband, wife, and their wonderful son? They fit together. There was no reason to fight.

“And what do you have planned for today, Petey?” she asked, as Neal leafed through the newspaper and Pan devoured his second bowl of cereal. Any reasonable mother would have told him to slow down, but something told her to be quiet. Her son always knew what was best for himself.

“I still don't know,” he said. “There are so many things I'd like to do today.”

Neal chuckled. “In this town? I think you'll find that your options are quite limited, son.”

“Nothing is limited when you have imagination, dad.”

“Isn't that true?” Emma said.

“Yes,” Neal agreed. “How did we have such a creative child? He clearly didn't take it after my side of the family.”

“Just promise you'll be careful, Petey. This town isn't what it used to be. And the boats at the docks are just dangerous.”

Neal snapped his tongue. “Emma, stop fussing. You know Peter is very responsible.”

“Yeah, mom. I'm always careful.”

“I know you are, my darling,” she doted. “But you can never stop a mother from worrying a little too much about her favorite boy.”

“Favorite? And what am I?” Neal asked, in good nature, making Pan laugh.

Emma was surprised to find herself amused. She leaned closer, “You're my husband. Which makes you a very close second.”

“I can live with that,” Neal said.

The door opened, but instead of Regina, it was Felix who walked in. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt, he looked a lot cleaner than in Neverland, though he still smelled of sweat and dirt. His hair was a mess, but the scar on his face was a lot less noticeable now. On his shirt, there was the drawing of a half-naked fairy that looked more like a pinup girl than a Disney cartoon and it was quickly making her uncomfortable. Thank god Peter wasn't like that. He'd always been so respectful to women.

“Morning Mrs. C, Mr. C,” he said.

“It's so nice to see you, Felix,” Emma said. “Would you like to join us for breakfast? I'm sure Regina can make you something.”

Neal scoffed. “She can barely handle what she was supposed to be doing right now.”

“It's okay, Mrs. C. I ate already. And Regina said she has to check on Mr. Gold anyway.”

Neal shot her a look that clearly stated, “Told you!”

Pan shot to his feet, “Are you ready?”

“Do you boys need a ride to school?” Neal offered.

“Thanks, dad. But we like to walk. I'll see you guys for dinner.”

Pan kissed Neal's cheek, then her own, and left with Felix.

Emma sighed, contented, and continued to eat in silence. She thought of things to say to her husband. What did married people talk about? As far as she could remember from her times in foster care, mothers and fathers mostly talked about their kids, their bills, and their schedules, though nothing seemed fitting at the moment. And Neal didn't seem particularly interested either, as he finished his coffee. She wanted to say something, though. Something that had nothing to do with Pan and how wonderful he was because she could feel that thought consuming her and it wasn't a good feeling.

However, the trust was that, the moment Pan left the room, it was like all of her happiness had been sucked out of her body, and in its place there was only resentment left.

“I told you Regina doesn't know what she's doing,” Neal said, looking nothing like the man who'd joked around with her and Pan just minutes before.

Emma felt a sharp reply rising in her throat, but held it back. There was no reason to make things worse than they already were.

Neal got up and threw the newspaper on the table. “Screw this, I'll just have breakfast somewhere else.”

 

*

 

 _Count to one hundred_. _Count to one hundred they are dead count to one hundred counting only the even numbers. Two four six eight they are dead and it's your fault twelve fourteen sixteen don't think of father twenty and all the horrible ways he could torture them twenty eight thirty thirty two thirty four Bae is gone forty six forty eight fifty Bae is gone and you couldn't save him sixty two sixty four he's hurting Belle seventy he's hurting Belle right now seventy six she's probably wondering where you are eighty why won't you save her eighty two you boy is dead eighty four if he's lucky he's dead ninety six if they're lucky they're both dead but they're not lucky and they must be cursing your name one hundred._

There.

That wasn't do hard. He could do this. He could keep himself from panicking. It didn't matter that the darkness was oppressing and it was so much easier to think of terrible things when there was nothing else to distract him. Rumpelstiltskin had survived worse than this-

_Liar._

Rumpelstiltskin had survived worse than this. If only he could keep himself together, he could figure this out. There would be a spell-

_There are none._

Or another solution to his predicament. And once he was able to walk again, he was going to snap Pan's neck and find his son-

_He's dead._

And Belle-

_She'll resent you. She won't forgive whatever it is that Pan is doing to her._

He just had to focus.

 _Count to one hundred_ , he told himself for the third time. The nursery rhymes had all been recited, and while Rumpelstiltskin didn't like the monotony of numbers, they were all he had left to keep himself from going insane. _Count to one hundred they're all dead using only multiples of seven they're all dead and you're all alone seven fourteen silly coward twenty one are you afraid little boy twenty eight you should be thirty five you should be forty two he's coming for you next forty nine he wants to hurt you and he's going to enjoy it forty nine what came after forty nine don't think of it forty nine don't think of it Belle fifty Bae fifty one Bae please-_

His bedroom door opened and Rumpelstiltskin let out a gasp through his barely parted lips. He had to move his head, had to see who was coming in, but his neck refused to budge. When the lights were turned on, they hurt his eyes, blinding him for a moment. If Pan wanted to torment him, he was on to a good start.

“Are you awake?”

_Regina!_

He emitted a guttural sound that wasn't any particular word, but it was enough for her. She came into his bedroom, closed the door, and approached his bed. She gave him a look over and Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't have been surprised to see triumph in her eyes. He might have looked down on her the same way if their situation had been any different. But instead, she looked at him with calculating eyes, as if he were a problem to be solved, rather than a personal victory.

“Well, this is going to be complicated,” she said, evaluating him, from his weak limbs to the fear in his eyes to the smell of urine that had filled the room just moments ago regardless of his best efforts to control himself. It'd been of no use. He saw her nostrils flaring and something burned inside his chest. It was stronger than shame, or even humiliation.

_Helplessness._

Yes, that was about right. He hadn't felt it in centuries, but he'd never forgotten it. And now he was a helpless old man again. If Regina decided to mock him for his poor bladder control, he wouldn't even be able to defend himself with words, let alone magic.

But all she said was, “This is going to be _very_ complicated.” She looked into his eyes and asked, “Is his name Peter?”

Rumpelstiltskin could've smiled, if he had better control over his facial expressions.

_Smart woman._

“Is his name Peter?” she insisted.

What had Pan told him? One for yes, two for no.

He blinked twice.

Regina's shoulders relaxed and she said, “Good.” She looked over her shoulder. The door was still closed, but it was best to be careful. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. “I don't have much yet. But your son is getting ready to go to work.”

_Bae!_

He had so many questions. How did he ask questions like this?

“He's alright,” she said. “But he's... confused.”

No, no, no, that made no sense. He'd been so careful. They were both supposed to remember, why didn't he remember?

“Your daughter-in-law is alright. And your... grandson, Peter, he's going to school right now.”

Rumpelstiltskin muttered something. It sounded nothing like Belle's name, but Regina knew what was supposed to be the next question anyway.

“I'm the only maid, but I'll look around.”

_Maid?_

He eyed her uniform and was amused for just one second ( _“From riches to rags, huh, Dearie?”_ ) before the realization of what she was truly doing in his bedroom fully hit him ( _“Oh... no, this isn't happening.”_ ).

Regina eyed him again, then sighed. “We might as well get this over with...”

He emitted a sound in protest.

“Yes, yes, trust me, I'm not enjoying this either,” she said, and pulled back his covers.

 

*

 

The Evil Queen seemed to be glitching. The Savior was complying to her role quite well, so far, but Regina... Pan had some doubts about her. Not that he had concrete evidence of it, but he could see the split-second flinches, the way she seemed to be smiling wider than everyone else, overcompensating. It wasn't enough to get rid of her. Maybe it was the Curse. It probably was. Pan knew it was bound to have a few problems.

“Peter Pan never fails,” Felix said, bringing Pan back to earth.

“I came close to it, this time,” Pan said, with false modesty.

“Never! I always knew you could do it, Peter,” Felix insisted, as they both took in the wonderful sight that was this New Neverland. From the top of the clock tower, it was even more impressive. He could see the entire island from there, including all the water that surrounded them, trapping the people inside. If the curse had failed to get to any of them (which he doubted) it wouldn't matter. They were all trapped and Pan had complete control over the situation.

“Do you like it?” Pan asked and Felix nodded.

“Oh, I like it _very much_.”

“Yes. I should have done if sooner,” Pan said. “The food is better.”

“So are the clothes,” Felix agreed. “And the beds.”

“Do you like your home?”

“Yes.”

“And your father?”

Felix smiled with cruelty. “He is perfect.”

“Good.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are my most faithful friend, Felix. As long as we're here, you will want for nothing.”

“I'm satisfied with what I have,” he said, and Pan knew it was true. Felix had always put their cause first, more than anyone else. He wasn't like the other boys, who came to Neverland in search of adventure, or because they were throwing a tantrum. Felix understood its true magic, and it went beyond pixie dust, mermaids, and sword fights with pirates. Though, if Pan were to be honest, flying had always been his favorite part about Neverland.

He dangled his legs from the edge of the roof and wondered if he could fly in this land. He could feel the magic, a faint pulse coming from a particular spot in the forest and spreading to the rest of the island. He could take it and bend it to his will, but it was still fainter than in Neverland – and the magic in Neverland was already very weak before Henry's arrival.

What a pity. He missed flying.

“What of the Truest Believer?” Felix asked.

“What about him?”

“Did he make it?”

“Well, that is a question that you'll have to answer,” Pan said.

Felix chest inflated with importance. He lived for the next mission.

“They've probably taken every measure to ensure we don't get him, but they didn't have time to think this through. Wherever he is, it won't be too hard to find him.”

“But why do you need him?” Felix asked. “Haven't we won already?”

“Almost,” Pan said, cautiously. “But not entirely. You see, this curse has some limitations. While we are frozen in time, and everyone has to do our bidding, we can't go beyond this.” He indicated the island with a broad gesture.

Felix shrugged. “Seems enough to me-”

“It's not,” Pan cut in. His friend stopped arguing immediately. “I've taken every precaution I could, but so did the Evil Queen, and she still failed. I cannot afford to have this Curse broken. The moment it does, the hourglass will star running again, and then we won't have a lot of time left.”

“But only the Savior could break the Curse.”

“No. No this one. This one is... different.”

Felix raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “You had to sacrifice a heart to enact the Curse.”

“I did.”

“Your son is alive,” Felix counted. “And... well... _I'm_ alive.”

He spoke with a soft laughter in his voice, as if the irony of being Pan's sacrifice was somewhat comical.

“I cannot think of anyone else you might love enough,” Felix said, leaving the question implied.

Pan considered it for a little while. Then, he said, “There was someone.”

“Who?”

“Doesn't matter. Whoever it was, it wasn't enough.”

“Is this why there are limitations?”

“Yes. And it's also why we need to find the Truest Believer.”

Felix smiled at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don't worry Peter. As you can see...” he kicked the tower, where dormant clock lied, with the back of his sneakers. “We have all the time in the world.”

Pan smiled back at him and started to get up.

“We don't have to _actually_ got to school, do we?” Felix asked, pained by the idea.

“You might enjoy the kind of school I've created here. But I have other issues to attend to. No,” he said, when Felix started following him. “No, I want you to look around. See if anything seems out of place. In the evening, I want you to follow the Evil Queen, make sure she doesn't do anything... unusual.”

“What will you do?”

“I have many things on my list, but first, I have to make sure our friend is comfortable.”

 

*

 

It was difficult to make the woman out through the dusty glass of the coffin. Wherever it was that Pan had trapped her in, it was just as filthy as it was dark. The only source of light seemed to be flickering – a small torch, probably. If the woman left, then she'd be in complete darkness.

“I've been waiting for you to wake up, you know,” she said, her voice soft, taunting, as if Belle's predicament amused her. Perhaps she was part of the Office, and Pan had sent her over to check on her.

 _No_ , Belle told herself. _You know that's not it._

The woman could not be trusted, but... she wasn't Pan's ally, either. Despite the softness in her voice, there was a curiosity there. She didn't know what was happening any more than Belle did. But while being in the dark made Belle scared and lost, it only made that woman dangerous. That much, Belle could tell.

The woman wiped away a line of dust from the glass, and a pair of blue eyes stared back at Belle. They were calculating and unmerciful. If she so wished, she'd walk away and leave her behind, trapped and alone, without a minute of hesitation.

 _You have to be careful. You have to proceed_ very _carefully_.

A lock of blond hair fell over the woman's eyes and was tucked away, out of sight.

“That looks painful,” she said, though Belle wasn't sure to what she was referring to, exactly. The stitches? The splitting headache she'd woken up to? The bruises from punching the lid of the coffin?

Her eyes narrowed, a little glee in them. She was smiling.

“You are his little caretaker, aren't you?”

The question made something flash inside her mind, a stubborn memory that didn't want to be remembered, but it was there.

“Not a word?” she sneered, unkind. “Perhaps I should leave you here to think for a day or two.”

In a flare of panic, Belle tried to speak, pulling at the stitches and only making herself bleed in the process. The taste of it made her go quiet, but the desperation in her eyes must have been enough to get the other woman interested because she didn't move.

“Lets try this again, then,” she said. “You are Rumpelstiltskin's caretaker, aren't you?”

Belle nodded, frantic.

The woman seemed to smirk at her.

“It's difficult to talk like that, isn't it?” she said. When she saw Belle's fingers touch the thick, black thread that bound her lips together, she warned her, “There is no point in even trying, my dear. You need a very special spell to get that off. As far as I recall, you have no magic, do you?”

Belle shook her head. The woman sounded disappointed when she said, “Thought so. I'm afraid I'm fresh out of magic, as well. So you're in no luck.”

She turned away and Belle banged her wrists on the glass once again, more frantically than she had before. She didn't want to be left alone in the dark again. She didn't want the other woman to take away the light. But, to Belle's relief, she was only walking around the coffin, observing it.

“You're going to hurt yourself if you keep acting stupidly,” said the woman. “This was made by dwarfs for a very special friend. It won't be broken so easily. There must be a latch somewhere, though.”

Belle tried to raise her head as much as she could to follow the silhouette of the woman. Definitely blonde hair. Carrying a small torch. Purple dress? She couldn't be sure.

After a moment of examination, which felt like an eternity, she finally announced, “Oh! Would you look at that! Here it is.”

It didn't make Belle feel any more relieved than before. Even if the woman had found the latch, Belle was still on the inside of the coffin, while her tormentor was waiting on the outside, giving her no indication that she wanted to set her free.

Instead, she leaned over the coffin again and looked through the patch she had cleared of dust. Belle returned the look with pleading eyes.

_Please. Please. Please._

“I am _terribly_ sorry, but I cannot remember your name.”

She laughed. It turned Belle's blood to ice.

“We never remember the help, I suppose. Do you mind if I just call you 'the pretty maid'?”

Yes, she did. But she was also in no position to make demands, so she shrugged.

“I don't expect you to remember mine either,” she continued. “Rumple didn't invite me over often enough. I think you can say we're friends, of sorts.”

Belle didn't move a muscle. The chances of the woman being a foe were growing at every minute. Rumpelstiltskin only had one friend, _of sorts_ , and she had locked Belle up for nearly thirty years.

“Did he do this to you?”

Belle shook her head.

“Regina, then?”

Same answer.

“Do you even know how you came to be down here?”

_Down where?_

“Should I give you time to think of an answer, or-”

Belle kicked the glass. When the woman was looking again, she nodded. She did remember. There had been another Curse.

“So I assume you know what happened up there.”

Belle didn't know what to say.

The woman decided to be more specific. “Is the Curse broken?”

That was a complicated question. Belle answered with a hesitant nod.

The woman was clever enough to deduce, “But that is not all, is it?”

Belle shook her head.

“It's difficult to talk like this, isn't it?”

Belle held her breath. This was it. She was either going to leave her to rot, or let her out.

The other woman straightened her back. Belle could practically see her fingers over the latch, hovering, taunting her.

“I'll tell you what, my dear. I can let you out of there.”

Her heart started pouding. She was almost free.

“But you remember what your master always says: everything comes with a price. And the price for this favor is going to be steep.”

She nodded again, desperate. If the woman had demanded her soul, she'd have offered it to her on a silver platter.

The woman smiled. From where she lied, Belle could see her teeth, sparkling in the dark. Menacing.

“Very well, my dear. Lets talk,” she said.

The metallic sound of the latch shrilled through the empty cave.

 


	3. Laid Down Traps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While this isn't exactly anti-Hook or anti-Captain Swan, I feel like I should add these warnings because this story isn't going to portray either in a flattery way, but that is mostly because of Pan's Curse. Hook is not supposed to be the villain here.

Belle rolled out of the coffin and onto the ground, scraping her knees and elbows on the dirt. Her legs were too numb to work and she had to rely on her trembling arms to crawl away from the glass coffin and the woman, who continued to look down on her. She could feel she was bleeding, but the pain was more than welcomed if it meant that she could move again.

“You're welcome,” said the woman, impassive, watching Belle grovel on the floor.

Belle's eyes darted from one side to the other, scavenging the darkness for an exit, but she couldn't see beyond the faint light of the other woman's torch. She could tell that she was in a cave, and she knew her legs were too weak to take her anywhere, but she still hoped for a miracle. A magical door embedded in the rock that could take her anywhere she wanted.

 _I wanna go home_ , she thought, the image of a comfortable armchair coming to mind. Rumple had given her that armchair the morning after the curse was broken. It was perfect in every way. He'd placed it near a large window with a view to the garden, so she could sit there and read her books quietly. Sometimes, he'd sit with her and read the words into her ear. When she'd moved into her own apartment, he'd offered to bring the armchair over, but she'd refused it. It was nice having her own little corner in his manor, where they could still sit together when she came to visit, or to sleep over.

Just the night before they'd sat by that window, Belle wrapped in nothing but a blanket and his arms, as he'd told her the long story of a coward named Malcolm, who abandoned his child so that he could claim eternal youth. He talked about the spinsters, and Milah, and the war. He told her about the night he hobbled himself. And about the night he let Bae go.

“I wish you'd told me all of this before,” she'd told him, once his tale came to an end and the sun was rising over the garden.

Rumpelstiltskin hadn't said a word, his body tense under hers, still awaiting her judgment. Belle knew that her mournful remark was not at all what he'd been expecting. Rejection would make sense. Something along the lines of, “This is just too much.” Something that made it clear that she'd found him to be too broken. There was too much baggage there, and a long tally of sins she knew about now. There were probably many more that he hadn't disclosed yet.

“I don't like to think about that time,” he'd said, apologetic, though it hadn't been her intention to chastise him for keeping secrets. She'd just waited for this night for so long, hoping that some day he'd finally trust her enough to tell her the story of the man behind the beast, and now that he'd done it, she just wished she'd known that from the very start. So many things would've been different if only he'd trusted her.

“I can see why,” she agreed, her head on his shoulder as he held on to her, as if he feared she might turn to smoke at any moment and disappear from his life. “I just... I wish knew all of this. Then, maybe, I could have done something about it.”

“You're a remarkable woman, Belle,” he'd said, with a hint of amusement in his voice. “But not even you can change the past.”

“No. But I could have...”

She'd trailed off, not knowing how to explain the deep helplessness his story had filled her with. She wanted to have been there for him, from the beginning, to hold that weeping little boy and tell him his father was a very bad man who didn't deserve him. And since she couldn't do that, she should have done more when she had the chance. She shouldn't have left the Dark Castle, not when she knew he didn't really want her gone, and that he needed her help. She should have pressed harder, made him feel safer, made him feel _something_. Or, maybe, if she'd been strong enough to fight Regina and return to him, maybe he'd have explained all of this sooner, rather than later.

 _Regina should pay_ , she'd thought that night, fitted against his body and burning with anger for the first time since she'd escaped the hospital. _I could have been here sooner, if it weren't for her. I could have changed things. We'd have been together._

He might have felt the way her body began to tense because he stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, just as he did after she had a nightmare.

_That tower. That damn tower._

“You can't put everything on your shoulders, my dear,” he said, kindly.

“I shouldn't be making this about myself,” she replied.

“You're not.”

“I am. I'm sorry.” She straightened up to look into his eyes. “Thank you for telling me.”

He offered her a broken smile. “I don't know why you're thanking me. That's a lot of history for one person.”

“You've lived for centuries, Rumple. I think a little history was to be expected.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed, finally allowing himself to relax against the armchair. When she didn't lean on him again, he asked, “What is it?”

“Do you still want me to move back in?”

He stared at her, taken aback by the question.

“Because I will, if you ask me to.”

That moment. Belle wanted to enter a magic door and go back to that _exact_ moment, when he looked into her eyes with such fascination and gratitude, like she'd just offered him the greatest gift of all. She wanted to go back in time and be there again, feeling safe and needed and loved by a man who trusted her with all his heart. She wanted that armchair, where she thought her life was going to change and everything was going to be alright. They had a home and Neal and each other. The fights in the family were about to end. Everything would be fine. Life would be good. Life would be _perfect_.

She shouldn't be crawling in the dark, sobbing like a little girl because the pain was becoming too much and she was trapped with someone who wouldn't hesitate to hurt her. She should be in that armchair. She should be in his arms.

“Stop crying,” the woman said, her voice sharp, demanding her attention. “It will solve none of our problems.”

Belle kept her eyes on the ground when she stepped closer, tears sliding down her face and falling on the dirt, where they were turning to mud. She was sobbing now, or at least trying to, because nothing seemed able to escape her sewn shut lips.

Without warning, a hand closed around her arm.

“Lets get you off the ground.”

Belle kicked the other woman. Her right leg was still stiff, but it delivered a hard enough blow to her calf that she yelped and took a step back. Belle looked up, her eyes burning with a very clear message: _do not touch me_.

Instead of retaliating, the woman smiled.

“Good. You still have some fight left in you. You're going to need it. Now-” she offered Belle a hand. “Do you want to crawl, or do you want to sit, like a proper lady?”

Belle eyed the woman with suspicion, finally getting a clear view of her under the torch. She poised herself like a queen, even though she was dressed in purple rags, the remains of what might once have been a luxurious dress. Her blonde hair was filthy and messy, and there were dark circles underneath her sharp blue eyes, which added a layer of frustration to the disdain on her face. She'd been waiting for this long enough, and at any moment she might snap.

Belle knew that look. She'd seen it before on that same face.

 _If you don't stop struggling, pretty maid, we'll have to stop playing nice_ , those had been her words, decades ago, and they had terrified Belle. She wasn't used to magic by then, and she wasn't used to being kidnapped either. Being held hostage by three powerful sorceresses was, at the time, as bad as she thought things could get.

Belle tried to utter the name, _Maleficent_ , but it got caught in her stitches.

Maleficent smiled regardless. “It seems that you remember me, pretty maid. Now, get up. We have a lot to talk about.”

 

*

 

There were still so many things to discuss. Contacting the others should be their priority, as well as finding out who'd gotten those two doses of memory potion. It would also be wise to assess what had happened to the rest of town. Had Pan created an entire island of doting grown ups to pamper him and fulfill his every wish? Possibly, though Emma had a feeling that reality would be much more grim than that. They should go over those things once Regina and Gold were ready.

However, after going up to tend to the family patriarch, Regina hadn't come back and, after waiting for forty minutes, Emma finally got tired and got off her comfortable couch – very expensive, Neal had fought her on buying it, but she'd gone behind his back and bought it anyway – and climbed up the stairs, her heels clacking on the marble with a familiar sound that pleased her ears – expensive stiletto heels, she never wore the same pair twice, and she wouldn't be caught dead without them, even inside her own house. She stood in front of Mr. Gold's bedroom door – whom would be better suited in a nursing home, at this point, if getting rid of him wouldn't break Petey's heart, and Petey was the most important person in her-

Emma knocked on the bedroom door so hard it verged on desperation. The sound of her fist on the wood helped quiet down the rush of insanity that was trying to take over her mind.

“Regina, please, we need to talk.”

The answer from the other side of the door was urgent. “Do _not_ come in!”

“Regina,” she said, and she couldn't help but be miffed at the other woman's tone, “this is still my house, and I-”

“Emma, there is a time to be cursed, and a time to do as you are told!”

From inside the bedroom, Gold mumbled something that seemed to be in agreement with Regina, though Emma couldn't make out a word.

“For goodness's sake! Why can't I-”

“Emma, you have something else to do, don't you? Since you're Pan's mother. He must have given you some freedom to move around.”

“But Regina-”

“Go, Emma! I'm busy. Ow!” Something splashed and Regina cursed.

Emma asked, “What is going-”

“Go!” Regina shouted back. “We all have roles to play!”

After that, Regina didn't address her anymore, instead murmuring something to Gold. Emma stepped away, mulling over that thought. Roles to play. Except that she didn't feel like an actress, but like a puppet, and Pan was pulling the strings, putting thoughts in her head that were not supposed to be there. Now, she was supposed to open up her mind and let him tell her where to go and what to do?

She'd much rather stay at home and talk things through with Regina and Gold. She needed to know more about how to keep her thoughts in check because, right now, they were spinning out of control.

 

*

 

Drop, drop, drop.

It was raining.

Drop, drop, drop.

It was raining inside the police station. He should've fixed that leak weeks ago. He'd promised Emma that he would.

Drop, drop, drop.

David wiped the water off his face before he even opened his eyes, deciding that it was time to do something about that damn leak before Emma made good on her promise to call Leroy to fix it. And since they were at it, no more naps over his desk. That only resulted in a crooked neck and it didn't help him relax at all.

“Are you feeling cozy, officer?”

David opened his eyes to find Captain Hook staring down at him.

 _Sheriff,_ whispered a voice in his head. _That man is Sheriff Jones_. David didn't understand how, but he knew that to be true, just like he'd once known that he was David Nolan, and that he loved his wife Kathryn. From the start, he could feel it in his bones that it was all a lie, but he'd believed in it, and that had made it real.

David knew Hook was the Sheriff and he was his officer. It made no sense to him, but a handful of memories were telling him otherwise. It was all true. He didn't believe it, but it was all true. And he was about to be in big trouble.

“Is this how you hold the fort when I'm gone, officer?” Hook said, water dripping down his hair and clothes, leaving a puddle on the floor and on David's desk, which he assumed was being done on purpose.

David snapped out of his haze and sat up straight in his chair, knocking a cup of coffee off his desk in the process. Hook took a step back just in time to avoid the splash.

“I'm so sorry. Sheriff,” he said, adding the word a second too late.

Hook barked, “Go clean up this mess!”

David shot to his feet. “Yes, sir.”

“And don't let me find you sleeping on your desk again, or so help me-”

“It won't happen again, sir.”

“Ha! I've heard that before!” someone sneered right behind him.

David turned around to find a chubby looking man shoving a full donut in his mouth. He was slouched over his chair, with crumbs snowing down his shirt, and David had the distinct impression that he never got up to do anything. Even though they were in doors, he had a ridiculous red, knit hat on his head, which was most definitely not part of an officer's uniform.

Hook didn't seem amused by his comment.

“Deputy Smee,” he thundered. “Aren't you responsible for my men when I'm not around?”

Smee shrugged. “I can't make a good officer out of that one, Sheriff Jones.”

“Sheriff Jones,” David repeated. No, no, it made no sense.

Hook ran his right hand through his wet hair and ruffled it, showering David's desk with another rainstorm of water drops. His hook was gone, replaced by the prosthetic, leather-gloved hand David had seen before. It stood awkwardly by his side, but somehow it didn't make him any less menacing.

“Yes,” Hook agreed. “How nice that you remember the chain of command. Now clean this mess up.”

David looked at the mop in his hand. He'd spent most of his short career in the Sheriff's Department holding on to that mop. Or getting everybody coffee. Or picking up the lunch orders. He had a badge, but he hardly ever was allowed to patrol the streets of Storybrooke. Sometimes, he wondered if it'd been worth it to trade the quiet job at the animal shelter for this. The paycheck and the benefits hardly made up for it, and the work was not as glamorous as he thought it'd be.

“This isn't right,” he mumbled, trying to get his thoughts in order. He wasn't Hook's officer, he was Emma's deputy. He was Emma's father-

“Oh, isn't it?” Hook snapped, aiming angry eyes at him.

From his chair, Smee chuckled. This was going to be entertaining.

David looked around, momentarily lost, then he realized what had happened.

“No!” David said, urgently. “No, I wasn't talking to-”

But Hook was already advancing on him with large strides, ready to reassert the chain of command.

“Does Office Nolan think he's too good to mop the bloody floor now?”

“I was only-”

“Because when you finally learn to get your head out of your arse,” he shouted, saliva spitting out of his mouth and making David flinch, “you can trade that mop for a gun and actually contribute to the safety of this island, just like every man in this station does.”

“Of course, I-”

“But until then,” Hook continued, even louder, without catching his breath, “you might want to keep your opinions to yourself, you bumbling buffoon, and do all you can to earn your place in here, _because so far you've only managed to be an embarrassment to_ -”

“Excuse me?”

Hook stopped shouting and David was thankful for it. Hook's screaming had left him with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, where anger was supposed to rise. It was a humiliating, familiar feeling and he felt it every day. Useless. That was what he was. It was so real and so wrong at the same time.

This wasn't him. Just the day before, if Hook had tried to raise his voice at him, David might have punched him without thinking twice. To Hell with their carefully plotted, yet far from perfect, plan. It'd be a cold day in hell before he bowed down to Captain Hook.

But now, his hands were sweating and he was fighting the urge to scurry away like a coward. He'd never liked confrontation. He didn't like dealing with Jones, or anyone else.

 _What is happening to me?_ , he asked, taking a deep breath and carefully raising his eyes from the floor to see why the shouting had ceased.

It was Mrs. Cassidy-

It was Emma.

It was his daughter, standing right there, right next to the office that belonged to her, and all those conflicting thoughts disappeared in a heartbeat.

“Emma,” he whispered, haunted by the sight of her. That wasn't the Emma he knew. She looked... older. At least a decade. Though her hair was still golden, her face seemed exhausted by years of unhappiness. Her body looked delicate and she'd dressed it in a pink, knee-length dress that seemed more expensive than everything she had in her wardrobe combined. He didn't even think Emma owned high-heels, but today she was wearing black stilettos that made her as tall as the man who called himself Sheriff. David could see that because Hook instantly forgot about him and ran to her side, only looking back to snap, “Show the lady some respect, Nolan!” When Hook addressed her, however, his voice came down to a sweet, insinuating tone, “Mrs. Cassidy, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Emma looked at David, who stood in the middle of the station holding a mop, and then to Hook, who stood in front of her wearing the badge that was rightfully hers.

“What happened to you?” she asked eyeing his clothes.

“Oh, this?” he snickered, thinking that she was referring to the fact that he was drenched. “A boyish prank. I swear, this town is overrun by brats. Your son seems to be the only exception.”

“What?” David gaped, when Hook's words evoked the memory of Peter Cassidy to his mind. A sweet boy who always had a smile and a funny story to tell, the only person in town who actually treated him somewhat decently. “Wait... I... what?”

Hook eyed him again.

“I mean, what can I do for you? Mrs. Cassidy?”

“You can start moping,” Hook commanded. “That's what you're good for. I'll look after Mrs. Cassidy.” To Emma, he smiled. “Lets step into my office. We can be more comfortable there.”

Emma eyed him again, and David gave her the most imperceptible nod.

_Yes, I know who you are. I'm right here, my darling. You have nothing to fear._

Hook held the door to his office – _her_ office – open and Emma followed him inside without looking back.

Smee chuckled with disdain when the door closed. “Those two should be more discreet.”

David looked at the new Deputy and asked, “What do you mean?”

Smee's chuckle turned into a laugh. “You really are just a pretty face.”

Inside the Sheriff's office, Hook started lowering the blinds.

 

*

 

Emma eyed the Sheriff's desk that had been hers not twenty four hours ago, but was sensible enough to sit on one of the plastic chairs before it, folding her hands over her purse delicately and crossing her legs at the ankles. A proper lady who didn't belong in a police station, and sure as hell couldn't run it.

From her seat, she eyed Killian Jones – Sheriff Jones, she knew this, he was wearing _her_ badge and carrying _her_ gun and sitting in _her_ office. He even refused to wear the uniform just as much as _she_ did, opting for dark jeans and a black vest over the mandatory shirt and tie. Her heart suffered a light squeeze when she realized he was wearing Graham's leather jacket.

“What is it?” he asked, when she mumbled an empty vowel, almost letting the wrong comment slip.

“Nothing,” she said, gripping her purse.

Hook smiled knowingly at her and proceeded to lock the door, which she really wished he hadn't done. With the blinds down, Emma felt like the walls were closing in and things could go catastrophically wrong at any moment. Not for the first time that day, Emma wished she hadn't left the house.

The overstimulation of the streets hadn't helped. For the first fifteen minutes, she'd driven aimlessly around town, taking in the semi-familiar sights, trying to make sense out of things. She didn't quite understand how this curse-thing worked, but she supposed something would trigger a memory, or somehow call to her.

The problem, though, was that _everything_ was triggering her in different and unpleasant ways.

The first thought had come upon seeing the big red sign announcing _Ruby's_ where _Granny's_ used to be.

 _Time for coffee_.

Not _I want coffee_ or _it'd be nice to have some coffee._ She didn't want coffee. In fact, she hated everything they served at Ruby's. All pastries were covered in sugar, the hot drinks had too much chocolate in them, the music made her want to go deaf, and the girl who ran that monstrosity of a roadside diner in the middle of her husband's island talked like a Sesame Street host while dressing like a street walker. No wonder the place was always swarming with teenage boys. And grown-up men. One day, that girl was going to snatch someone else's husband, and she'd seen the way Miss Lucas looked at hers. That was why Emma made a point at coming in every morning for her disgusting Mocca Latte, to make sure Neal was nowhere near her, and to show Miss Lucas she was on to her.

Behind the wheel, Emma had shaken her head and ignored the thought of coffee and jealousy as best she could, continuing down main road.

The ice cream parlor evoked the memory of a sweet little boy whose face was covered in chocolate fudge. It was as endearing as it was false and the love bubbling up in her felt like a wave of nausea.

Dr. Hopper's practice. That weak little man who refused to get off his ass and do something about this town, leaving all the work to fall on Neal's shoulders. There was nothing memorable about him, but Neal insisted they supported his campaign. Hopper was so full of good intentions that he would be easy to manipulate.

The beauty salon made her huff because they had messed up her highlights _again_ the week before. It didn't matter that Celestyn and her vipers owned the only salon in town, she was never going back there again.

 _I should get Neal to evict them_.

She could get Neal to do anything. He might despise her, but he was rather malleable once she tired him down.

 _And that bitch from the sweet shop is not getting anywhere near Petey's dad_.

Another building, another thought that wasn't hers. Every corner that she turned was a rush of memories she had never lived and a surge of emotions she didn't feel.

However, when she drove by the Sheriff's station, everything quieted down to give way to a new, single thought: _he's waiting for you_.

Emma slammed the breaks and the person right behind her honked furiously when their cars almost collided. She should get their plate, get Neal to tow their car.

 _He's waiting for you_ , that was what the Curse was whispering in her head.

He.

Who was he?

Henry?

No.

David?

_Dad!_

Emma left the car in the middle of the street - no one would dare to do anything about it – and jumped out. If David was there, maybe he remembered, and maybe he could help her. Having an ally in the Sheriff's Department could make all the difference.

To find Hook berating David for some transgression was a shock, but it wore off quickly. She'd witnessed that scene before. In fact, it was part of the island's routine: Sheriff Jones screaming at someone, usually the town idiot who often managed to do something stupid before lunchtime.

When Hook turned around and aimed his eyes at her Emma's heart fluttered pleasantly, experiencing something akin to happiness for the first time that day.

 _That's the man you're here to see_.

“You were late,” Hook commented, coming closer but not sitting down next to her.

Emma tapped on her purse and didn't look away from him. The moment she'd heard him lock the door, her entire body began tingling with anticipation when she should've been worried. She didn't like this. Right now, he was looking down at her with a half smile that seemed to invite her closer, even though she didn't dare move from the plastic chair.

“I had a difficult morning,” she told him, her back straight and her body stiff.

“Problems with Mr. Cassidy?”

Emma felt the corners of her mouth twitching up. She was smiling. Because Killian was funny. He understood how Neal could be like sometimes.

 _He doesn't understand_ , she reminded herself. _There is nothing to understand. Nothing here is real._

“Regina,” she told him.

Killian said, “There's always something,” and though it was simple, that alone made her feel much better. She knew that Killian was only saying that because that was what she wanted to hear, but it didn't matter. Yes, there was always something, and no one seemed to appreciate how difficult her life could be sometimes. Especially Neal.

“Yes,” Emma agreed, though she was shaking her head, scrambling her thoughts.

Killian was still looking at her, waiting.

“I don't know why I'm here,” she confessed, though that wasn't entirely true. The curse was dripping information into her mind, one small drop at a time, but it wasn't difficult to guess where they were going with this. Emma could only hope she was reading the entire situation wrong.

Much to her chagrin, Killian took the seat in front of her, his eyes sweet, his voice as soft as velvet. He didn't want to startle her. He didn't want her to go away. And she loved him for it.

“That's what you always say.”

There was something dark underneath all that gentleness, a hint of mockery. Her resistance, even though mild, was entertaining to him. He liked that he had to chase her, even though he knew exactly how their meeting was going to end.

When Killian reached out to touch her cheek with a kind stroke of his thumb, Emma jolted, but didn't try to move away. She didn't want to.

He leaned closer. “You look shaken up today.”

Emma didn't answer, too entranced by his eyes. Deep, blue eyes. Could she get lost in them and forget that terrible day? There was one final moment of resistance, a rebellious thought in a muffled voice (“ _you need to get out of here_ ”) right before he kissed her, and then everything else became secondary.

Emma had kissed him before, she knew what he tasted like. She expected his lips to move on hers in that breathless, desperate way that felt both like an enthusiastic beginning and a sorrowful end. This, as everything else in this world, felt different. Hook might have had expected their first kiss to be their last, but Killian took his time with her, his pace slow and comforting as he placed a possessive hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer. He wasn't afraid that she was going to fade away the moment their little adventure was over. By now, he'd realized that she'd always come back to him.

Of course she did.

She _needed_ him.

Like air.

Like life itself.

Her hands grasped the front of his shirt. She couldn't breathe and that was fine, as long as he kept on kissing her, his hand on the back of her neck, holding on so hard it would leave a bruise, a memory of him to hold onto until their next meeting.

“I've missed you, Emma,” he whispered against her mouth, pulling her back just enough to speak.

Emma whined and struggled to come closer again, her legs uncrossing. He laughed at her efforts before giving in and allowing her to kiss him again.

That alone made her so happy she almost didn't hear the frantic knocking until David's voice announced, “Sheriff! Sheriff! I finished mopping!”

Killian surfaced just long enough for Emma to catch a glimpse of anger on his face, as he turned to the door and barked, “Then go do something else!”

“Like what?” David asked, immediately, not giving him the chance to kiss her again.

“Go get coffee, Nolan!”

“But sir, I-”

“I said go get coffee!”

Emma took a deep breath, reality hitting her like a bucket of icy water. When Killian leaned back in, whispering, “Come here, love,” she jumped back so fast she knocked her chair down.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I should go.”

He frowned at her, though Emma could see he wasn't taking the threat seriously. “You just got here.”

“No, I should go, I'm sorry, I should go.”

When she ducked for her purse on the floor, Hook tried to get a hold of her arm, and, for a moment, Emma felt his fingers closing around her in that wonderfully possessive grasp that turned her knees to jelly. She felt more his these days than she felt her own. Emma just wanted him to hold on to her and never let her-

“I have to go,” she repeated, pulling her arm free and startling him.

“Emma-” he tried, but she unlocked the door and left without looking back.

 

*

 

David was waiting in the corridor when she turned the corner. Emma barely looked at him, but she could see he was worried.

He started asking, “Are you-” but she didn't let him finish.

“Don't talk to me.”

Her father seemed taken aback by the harshness in her voice, but that didn't discourage him from following her close as she did her best to run on high heels.

“Emma, did he do-”

“Don't talk to me, don't say anything,” she pleaded, her head spinning and her body craving for her to turn around and go back to Killian.

David looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone.

“Please, Emma,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Just tell me that you remember.”

“No, not now,” she whimpered. “I can't deal with this now.”

“Emma-”

Before she had the chance to open the front doors and slip away, he tried to hold her hand.

Emma snatched it back in a quick, violent motion.

“ _Don't touch me, you moron_!”

David took two steps back.

“ _Don't you_ ever _touch me_!”

Before running out of the Sheriff's Department, Emma caught a glimpse of her father's eyes. He was heartbroken, and she couldn't care less.

 

*

 

The door slammed behind her and Emma kicked the stilettos to the side before she started screaming Regina's name over and over again, without waiting a response. But she seemed to have vanished. The kitchen was exactly as she had left it before leaving the house.

_That's because she's lazy. Regina is lazy. Why do we even keep her around?_

“No, no, no, no, no,” she whispered to herself, running up the stairs two steps at a time. She screamed her name again, knocking on Gold's door even more desperately than before. She had to be there. “Regina! Regina!”

Her reply didn't change. “Go away!”

“Regina, please, we need to talk!”

“I said go away!”

“Regina-”

“I'm dressing him!”

The shock was enough to make Emma go quiets just as tears threatened to fall from her eyes. It was probably a good thing, she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop crying if she started now. After a beat, she asked, “What did you just say?”

“I said I finally managed to finish the sponge bath and now I'm trying to figure out how to dress a grown man without knocking him out of bed _again._ And don't you look at me like that!” she all but shouted, though Emma assumed she was talking to Gold now. “Would you rather she walked in and caught us in this... _position_? I don't think your girlfriend would appreciate it.”

“Why are you dressing him?” Emma asked, a hint of disgust in her voice.

Before Regina could answer, a rush of images came to her. Gold, bedridden and weak, a shadow of a person, his intelligent eyes so dull now that they verged on stupidity. His face was a cobweb of wrinkles and his hair had all but turned white, and every time Emma leaned closer she could smell the sweat, the urine, the _age_ , and the whole thing repelled her so much she couldn't bear to look at the old man.

“This isn't good,” she said. “This isn't good at all.”

Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open and Regina was standing in front of her, looking furious.

“ _You_ ,” she accused, “are putting everything at risk with your panicky attitude.”

“I'm not panicky-”

“Yes – you – are! Ever since you woke up, you're walking around on the verge of a breakdown. Do you have any idea what Pan will do to us if he finds out you-”

“I'm sorry, Regina!” Emma all but shouted. “But this is my first curse! What exactly did you expect?”

“I expected you to make an effort!”

“I _am_ making an effort! I am all but losing my mind _because_ I'm making an effort, so don't you dare-”

“You're whining is what you're doing!”

“Are you peeved that nobody is doing what you want this time, your majesty?”

“ _Don't you dare put this on me!_ ”

“ _This curse isn't yours, Regina! You can't tell me what to do!_ ”

“ _Then how about I rip your heart out so we can-_ ”

At this point, they were shouting so loud their voices were echoing all over the house, but even so they could hear the deep, struggling moan that came from inside the bedroom. It rose above their voice like the croak of a particularly irritated frog and it was the shortest, yet clearest, order to shut the hell up that Emma had ever received.

Both women quieted down immediately and turned to look at Gold, who was lying on his bed, wearing nothing but the sheets Regina had hurriedly pulled up to his chin and the enraged expression on his face. His eyes were aiming at the ceiling, but Emma knew his anger was directed at them for wasting time in petty feuds.

“Fine,” she said, with a sigh. “We get it.”

Regina stepped aside to let her in and closed the door.

“We need to keep it together,” she said, quietly. “Or else he'll see right through us.”

Emma nodded, eyes still on Gold's narrow figure under the sheets. He'd never been a large man, but even when he still relied on the cane, Emma had always found him imposing enough for her to overlook his size. Lying like this, he looked vanished, as if his bed had devoured half of his body overnight.

“You weren't kidding when you said he wouldn't go easy on you,” Emma said.

He didn't seem to appreciate her pity, but didn't make any sounds of protest.

“He can't speak,” Regina told her.

“I know.”

“He doesn't have magic, either.”

“And you-”

“No. There is magic,” Regina added. “This island isn't as barren as Storybrooke used to be, but it's out of our reach.”

Emma nodded, absentmindedly. Without thinking, she took a hold of his arm, feeling the skinny limb through the sheet. It was like holding nothing but bones.

“He doesn't remember,” she told him. “I thought he would, but... we all thought you'd cheat, you know. Maybe you should have.”

His eyes shifted towards her, though, if Gold was trying to tell her something, she couldn't decipher what it was.

“I will keep an eye on him,” she promised. “I'll make sure he's okay.”

“He'll be fine,” Regina said, not unkindly. “As long as he's Pan's loving daddy, he won't do a thing to hurt Neal. It's _you_ that I'm worried about.”

“I know,” Emma said, taking a step away from the bed and letting go of Gold's arm. “I know. Maybe you're right. I _am_ on the verge of a breakdown.”

“Then you better do something about it, because I didn't just change his diapers for you to get us killed on the first day.”

Gold protested with a growl.

Regina bared her teeth at him. “It wasn't a picnic for me either, so drop the attitude.” To Emma, she said, “Did you even leave the house?”

“I did.”

Regina waited for more information. When Emma didn't go on, she said, “Can't have been good for you to come back like this.”

Emma looked around, noticing for the first time how empty the room was. A mirror, a dresser, a hospital bed. That was all. “What, he couldn't spare a chair?”

Regina shrugged. “I don't think we'll be holding secret meetings in here anyway. Unless you want me to sit by your bed to tell you bedtime stories?”

Gold glared at her and let out a low growl. Regina smiled. “Thought so.”

Emma rested her back on the door and crossed her arms, trying to get comfortable, but failing. It didn't matter if she sat down or stood up, it was that body, that mind. She would never feel comfortable in her own skin for as long as that curse lasted.

“David remembers,” she told them. “So that makes three of us.”

“How about Mary Margaret, Tinker B-”

Gold muttered something to get her attention. His eyes were still on the ceiling.

“For goodness's sake, is this your curse or mine?” Regina complained, coming closer to turn his head towards them. “Better?” He blinked once. “As I was saying, we still have to check Mary Margaret, Tinker Bell, Hook, and Belle.”

“Hook is the Sheriff, I saw him,” Emma said. “He doesn't remember.”

“So, three people, one more dose to go.”

“Yes. And I think Archie is the Mayor.”

Regina grimaced. “No wonder the gangs seem to have taken over town.”

“Yes, well.”

“Is that all?”

Emma glanced at her, but didn't say anything.

“What is it?”

She eyed Gold, who narrowed his eyes at her, waiting to catch her in a lie.

“Hook is the Sheriff,” she said.

“Yes, but that doesn't sound so bad-”

“I think I'm having an affair with him.”

Gold's eyes immediately softened, looking more curious than shocked. Regina, though, seemed to consider what Emma had said for a little while, before asking, “And how do you know about that?”

“Because the only reason we're not currently having sex on his desk is that David interrupted us.”

“Emma, if Pan expects you to-”

“Are you about to chastise for _not_ having sex with Captain Hook?” she asked, baffled.

Regina looked ready to fight her on it, but instead, she said, “If you can't do that, then you better get clever, because Pan can't notice you're avoiding him.”

Emma shook her head. To Gold, she said, “Your father is a sick man.”

Gold remained silent.

“I never thought I'd say this,” Regina sighed. “But we have to get you to _talk more_.”

 

*

 

With every step she took, Belle thought her legs were going to give and she'd be back on the ground, crawling for safety. However, against all expectations, Maleficent passed an arm around here the moment her legs began to falter. Though Belle's first impulse was to push her away, she didn't budge and helped her find a place to sit. That turned out to be a very uncomfortable rock against a dark wall, so close to the ground that her knees were almost touching her chin, and Belle had to resist the urge to hug her own legs and curl onto herself, so she could better disappear in the dark.

Instead, she touched the stitches on her lips again. Even the soft brush of her fingers was enough to set them on fire.

“You better stop fiddling with them,” Maleficent warned her, when she started whining in pain again. “There's nothing you can do about them right now.”

Belle looked at her, hopeful that she'd have a solution to her situation.

Maleficent grinned, and Belle could see all the knowledge that was implied in her silence. She wasn't about to offer her any more help for as long as she had all the power in the conversation. “How about we start with you explaining everything that happened. Then, we can see what can be done for you.”

 _How?_ , Belle thought, helpless.

“Yes,” Maleficent agree, seeing the look on her face. “We'll have to be creative.”

With the tip of her slippers – good leather, now worn out by time – she kicked a pointy rock towards her. Belle picked it up and Maleficent held up the torch to the wall behind her.

“Lets start with short words, pretty maid.”

Belle held the rock in her hand, feeling its weight. If she'd been any stronger, she might have taken her chances and used it to attack Maleficent, but as it was, she doubted she'd stand a chance. Even if she brought the other woman down, there was still nowhere to run, and the only way to keep her from retaliating would be making sure she didn't get off the ground at all.

Maleficent pressed, “So, pretty maid?”

Belle held up the pointy end of the rock and scratched the wall, forming her name with shaky letters.

“You're wasting time, pretty maid,” Maleficent said, sounding bothered for the first time.

In a swift motion that produced a piercing sound, Belle drew a line underneath her name, refusing to back down.

“Very well, _Belle_. Then how about we move on to things that matter?”

The next word was just as short: WHERE.

Maleficent was shaking her head before she even finished the last E. “This isn't how this is going to go, Belle.”

She couldn't say the word “please”, but she let out a guttural sound that got muffled by the stitches. It was so pathetic and weak it couldn't have been mistaken for anything other than a plead.

“My best guess,” Maleficent said, her voice taking a dangerous turn, “is that we're underground, and no one is coming for us. Now, the next thing you write down better be useful, or else I will lock you back in that coffin until you feel more cooperative.”

Her hands started shaking so much Belle could barely hold the rock up to scratch the next word on the wall, her fingers gripping her writing tool as if her life depended on it. The letters were so soft that Maleficent had to hold the torch closer to the wall to be able to read them: PAN.

Belle looked up to see Maleficent's reaction to the name. The witch raised an eyebrow at it, then said, “I know ofhim.”

The word CURSE was written next to Pan's name.

What followed was a game of short words and wild guesses that seemed to drag on forever. How to explain something as complex as their situation in one-syllable words? And in a way that didn't infuriate her only chance to get out of wherever they were? But Maleficent was patient and, to Belle's luck, she was as sharp as she looked, making quick connections and leading the conversation with intelligent questions.

Time felt slower in the dark, and as she wrote, Belle wondered what would Maleficent do with her once she'd gotten all the answers she needed. It wasn't as if the witch had much use for a pretty maid, other than to fill in the gaps. She might very well thank her for her help, and then return her to the coffin until the next time she had questions. Maybe that was Pan's true punishment. She wasn't there to wait in a coffin for all eternity; she was there to amuse the witch, over and over again, always being promised to be let out of her prison, only to be returned at the end of the day.

Maleficent quickly understood that Belle was as in the dark as she was about whatever was happening above ground, though they both seemed to agree that _bad_ was a probability. After her third question was met with an interrogation point, she switched her line of questioning to what had happened from the moment Regina's Curse had been broken, until the moment Belle had woken up in the glass coffin.

There was a lot to tell, but Belle summarized the most important points to the best of her ability. The curse was broken by the Savior. Memories had been returned. Pan had come to Storybrooke, and now he was in charge. She didn't know who was still alive and Rumple had told her to expect the worst from this New Neverland.

“Do you think he remembers?” Maleficent asked, though she clearly didn't care whether Rumpelstiltskin had retained his memories or not. It was all a matter of strategy.

Belle pointed at the YES that had been scratched at the beginning of their conversation. Rumple had told her that, regardless of the punishment Pan had chosen for him, he'd want him to know why he was being punished to begin with.

“My father's always had a twisted sense of humor,” he'd told her, as they watched the memory potion brew. He'd even given her a crooked smile. “I suppose I take after him.”

“That's good,” Maleficent nodded. “He can be an asset. Was everyone else alive, the last time you saw them?”

Belle nodded.

“Does that include Regina?”

She nodded again.

“Good,” Maleficent said, her smile stretching another two teeth in size, turning from satisfied to cruel in the blink of an eye. Belle didn't like the look of it. She knew blood lust when she saw it.

Maleficent paced a few steps away and Belle held on to the wall behind her. If the fire was taken away, at least she'd have something to hold on to if she wanted to move around. But the witch didn't stray very far, and after a few steps from one side to the other, she concluded, “Very well, I think we have enough to go on, for now.”

Belle's hand gripped the rock with such strength it might have become one with her hand. If Maleficent tried to drag her back to the coffin, it didn't matter that she didn't stand a chance, she'd still put up a fight.

“Now, my dear, you are going to listen to me very carefully,” she continued, coming closer but not stooping down to her eye level, so that she could tower over Belle.

Belle cowered against the wall, but didn't let go of the rock. The knees. Mulan had told her that once. She should aim for the knees, if it came to it. From that vantage point, it might be her only chance.

“You are very lucky,” Maleficent continued, “because I don't think that little boy even knew I was still down here, or else I might've been cursed along with the rest of town. You do see how this can be an advantage for you, don't you?”

Belle nodded without even thinking it through. Whatever Maleficent said she'd take as gospel.

“And as it is, our interests are aligned. I don't want to be trapped down here any more than you do, and I have no interest in living out the rest of eternity in some teenager's fantasy world.”

Belle waited. There was more to it than just a helping hand, she knew it.

“However,” Maleficent added, grinning down on her, “I'm not exactly pleased that you're in collusion with the Evil Queen. That has never proven to be wise, I don't care how many ways your family tree twists.”

Even if she could speak, Belle wouldn't know what to say. It hadn't been her idea to trust Regina. In fact, if anybody had asked her opinion, she'd probably have been against it, even though she understood that desperate times called for desperate measures – now more than ever.

“It's a funny thing, friendship among witches,” Maleficent continued. “I wouldn't trust Rumple as far as I could throw him, but at least I know where we stand with each other. With Regina, I never do. I didn't expect her to do what she did.”

Belle searched the other woman's face for any sign of heartbreak. Given the way she spoke, it would've made sense. However, the memory of her years of entrapment only seemed to make her angry. She hated Regina Mills with every fiber of her being.

 _Join the club_ , Belle thought, wildly.

“So here is what I am proposing, my dear.” Maleficent stooped down to one knee. Belle squeezed the rock in her hand even harder, ready to attack if she tried anything. “I will get you out of here, and I will join you and your true love in your battle. It seems like the logical choice. It doesn't matter who's still alive and who still remembers, you're still severely outnumbered. But whatever arrangement we agree on once we're out of here, you are going to make sure that Regina is not part of it.”

Belle stared at Maleficent, her mind running as she tried to find a solution. The Charmings wouldn't stand for it, and even Belle had to admit that the Evil Queen was an asset to their plan. They wouldn't turn their backs on her, especially given Regina's tendency to screw them over when she didn't get what she wanted.

“Oh!” Maleficent said, with a giggle that was far from joyous. “Oh, no, I can see that you misunderstood, Belle.” She leaned closer. Under the glow of the torch, her eyes seemed to burn with intent. “If you want my help, my dear, you are going to kill the Evil Queen.”

 

 


	4. Proud and Insolent Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Besides the overall warning of torture (physical and psychological) and captivity, I should add a warning for child abandonment and child abuse to this chapter.

_There were so many unusual things happening that morning that Malcolm was filled with excitement before they even left the house. For starters, mother didn't hurry him out of bed at the break of dawn, saying, “Up, up, my son! I need wood to make a fire and water to make us soup!” The prospect of work always made his entire body feel heavy but he did love the sound of her voice bringing him out of a deep sleep, and the way the morning sun made her golden hair shine. She looked as beautiful as a fairy, though Malcolm had never really seen a fairy up close._

_That morning, there were no words. Instead, she stroked his cheek and told him to stay in bed just for a little longer. It wasn't until she heard father's voice calling for them that she ushered him out of bed, “Llewelie, my dear, we need to get going.” His voice was gentle, a sound Malcolm wasn't used to but that made him immediately happy. This was going to be a good morning._

_He thought he might get in trouble when mommy spotted the dirt under his sheets and the muddy footsteps leading from the window to his bed – he would hardly blame her – but she simply sighed._

“ _Were you out chasing fairies again, my love?” she asked, making her son smile. Usually, he'd only be chastised for sneaking out and told to leave all those silly thoughts of magic and fairies behind._

_Malcolm seized the opportunity without questioning._

“ _They were just outside my window, mommy,” he said, keeping his voice low so that father wouldn't hear it. While his mother might be tolerant of his wild thoughts, he doubted father's practical mind would care much for it, no matter how good his mood was. “They wanted me to chase them, but I promise I didn't go far.”_

_Mother sat down on the bed, his sheets crumpled on her lap. “Perhaps they were fireflies.”_

“ _No, mommy! Fireflies don't make a sound. Fairies do!”_

“ _Is that so?”_

_Father came into the room. “Llewelie, time is-”_

“ _Barry, I am talking to my son!” she snapped, the force of her words wiping the smile from Malcolm's face. Even father seemed taken aback by it._

“ _Right,” he agreed, without looking at the boy. “Right. Take your time, then.”_

_Once he was gone, mother forced herself to smile again. “Tell me, my love, what do fairies sound like?”_

_Malcolm eyed the door. “Papa will be mad-”_

“ _Papa is not your problem. Come sit with me. Tell me more about the fairies.”_

_Something tugged at his insides, a cold feeling that he'd later recognize as a premonition, but that he decided to ignore. Mother wanted to learn about the fairies, and that was all that mattered._

_He sat on the bed and told her all about the way they glowed in the dark in a multitude of colors, and how they danced on his parapet and incited him to come outside and chase them into the forest. They weren't always easy to see because they were so small, but when there was no moon in the sky, Malcolm could spot them easily. And the sound they made, it was like the tinkle of a very small bell, so quiet that you could only hear it when you lied very still in bed._

_He knew that most children thought that fairies weren't real. Mother, on any other day, would have agreed with them. However, Malcolm knew better. This world they lived in, this gray village, the dying forest around them, the threat of the ogres over their heads, the dull day-after-day, all of this meant nothing. There was much more hiding out there, something undeniably magical._

“ _Your eyes are so full of wonder,” mother said, when his tale was done._

“ _That's because it's a wonderful world, mommy!”_

_She stroked his cheek, her eyes beginning to water. “You'll never lose that, promise? You'll always have wonder in your eyes.”_

“ _Why are you crying, mommy?”_

_She pushed herself off the bed, tossing his sheets to the corner and rubbing her eyes furiously. “'tis nothing, Malcolm. Come, now. Father wants to take you to the market today.”_

_Malcolm jumped off the bed. “Really? I can come to the market?”_

“ _Yes.”_

“ _What will we do?”_

“ _Don't ask questions, Malcolm. Come eat your breakfast and be a good boy.”_

_Malcolm followed along, doing his best to behave and do as he was told. If father wanted to bring him along to the market, this was going to be a special day._

 

 

 

The problem with Regina was that she had no perspective, only a one-track mind that acted impulsively and relentlessly until she got what she wanted. Not once did she stop to consider the many ramifications of her actions and how they might affect her own life. Storybrooke was the perfect example of that. In her thirst for revenge, she'd trapped Snow White and her kingdom in time, to live the same day over and over, and she'd given herself a front seat to watch their misery. And then she'd gotten bored of it. That, as far as Pan was concerned, showed severe lack of planning.

Regina had believed that time would be enough of a punishment because Snow White would have her happy ending taken away from her. Pan knew better. Time was only a canvas on which to paint a bigger picture. People were much like toys: they got boring quickly if all you had to do was press a button and watch them go. Toys were meant to be played with, or else you wouldn't have fun at all, and in this sense, his own curse was a work of art. There were kinks to be ironed out, but all would slide into place as soon as he located Henry and finally got his hands on the Heart of the Truest Believer.

Regina had sacrificed the thing she loved the most for a time loop. Pan hadn't, and still managed to get the best out of it. Five days had passed and he was far from feeling bored. There always seemed to be something new and exciting going on and he loved to explore his new island, learning about the places and the people, which was another great example of Regina's incompetence. She'd cast a curse with the sole purpose of punishing Snow White, everyone else becoming collateral in the process. Pan didn't see it her way. If hundreds of souls had been placed in the palm of his hands, then he'd do his best – and his worst – with them. Everyone in Storybrooke Island belonged to him.

That being said, he had a favorite plaything.

After first welcoming Rumpelstiltskin into his new life, Pan hadn't bothered to visit him a second time. Perhaps he was being indulgent and arrogant, that had always been his weakness, but time was on his side and he could use it to his advantage. Rumple had known pain from a very early age and he could bear it like few people could. Breaking his fingers one by one would be entertaining, but it wouldn't get him the Heart of the Truest Believer.

What Rumpelstiltskin truly detested was a cage, that had always been unbearable to him. Finding himself unable to run was torture to a self-proclaimed coward and there was nothing like a cage without bars to really drive home the point of one's complete vulnerability. It could throw his brilliant mind into a spiral and make his stubbornness much more malleable to Pan's wishes.

And if that didn't work, there was always plan B - but Pan would rather leave her in her coffin for a little while longer.

The fridge in their kitchen was fully stocked with delicious food, but there were also a few plastic containers hidden in the back that Pan knew he wasn't supposed to touch. That was grandpa's food, which Regina prepared every night to make her job easier the following day. She might not be the best cook in town, but her skills were perfect for poor old Mr. Gold, who was so sick he was barely able to chew.

That Friday morning, before Regina arrived and his parents woke up, Pan took the container labeled “breakfast” and looked inside. A kind of yellow fruit mash had been dropped inside, though not a lot. Were it not for his immortality, Pan doubted that Rumple could live long on such rationed portions.

The smell of it wasn't particularly inviting, but he'd seen Regina cooking his lunch and dinner meals. Breakfast was likely to be the most bearable of them all as it mostly consisted of fruit and oatmeal. Perhaps it was a little too bearable. Grinning at his own wickedness, Pan reached for the salt and added a generous dose of it to the mixture.

A few minutes later, he entered Rumple's room without making a sound, though his son's eyes were already open in the dark, aware that someone was coming.

Emma never bothered to wonder what was happening to old Mr. Gold, whom she viewed more like an ugly chair that Neal wouldn't let her throw away than a family member. Neal didn't even look at the bedroom door when he was crossing the corridor, like the person he'd hid away behind it was a shameful secret. Regina was paid to care for him every day and did a mildly acceptable job at that, but it was too early for her to be stopping by. Rumple knew that there was only one person who'd come into his room so early, and so surreptitiously.

Pan turned on the lights and, though they must have burned his eyes, Rumpelstiltskin didn't dare to blink. As he stood by the door, Pan watched him, the spoon tapping the edge of the bowl he was holding as he thought, the soft clinking like the tick-tock of a clock. After what must have seemed like an eternity to Rumple, he asked, “Have I ever told you about the blacksmith?”

Rumple's eyes turned to the left, trying to find him, but Pan was not yet into his field of vision.

“I mustn't have,” he continued. “The thought of him still makes me angry. You got lucky, you know? You probably don't see things that way, but it's true. Your father found you a loving home, with women who wanted children and who'd care for you.”

Pan watched him. Rumple didn't seem to be breathing, hanging on his every word. Nothing like five days in the dark to get someone's attention. He stepped closer and the sight of him seemed to send a shiver down his son's immobilized body.

“Your spinsters, they were kind people, weren't they? They longed for children and treated you like family. My father didn't have the same mercy. He passed me on to the blacksmith because he'd been the only one willing to pay for such a young child. But that man wasn't cut out to be a father.”

Rumple watched him closely and Pan couldn't tell if he was enthralled by his tale or simply on edge, since nothing worse than an old story had happened to him yet.

“Not that he wanted to be a father. He despised children. Mullins, that was his name.” He let go of the spoon to draw a large shape into the air. “Massive man. Terrified me for years. Long after I had you, I continued to have nightmares of him. Do you remember hearing me scream in my sleep?”

Rumple stared at him. Pan raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “I asked you a question.”

_Blink_

Pan nodded. “Yes, it was truly dreadful. Thinking back, I doubt he was as massive as I remember, but that's what happens you are only a child. When someone has that much power over you, it doesn't matter their size, you're simply helpless.”

He leaned closer. If Rumple could move, he'd have shrank against his mattress, Pan could see it in his eyes.

“That man,” he said, looking into his son's eyes, “was much more wicked than me, and much more powerful than me, and I was but a weak little boy who could do nothing about it. If he wished to slap me around, he'd do it. If he wished to break my bones, I couldn't stop him. If he asked me a question, I had to answer. I had to play by his rules and be a good lad, so that nothing would happen to me. Do you understand that, laddie?”

Rumpelstiltskin stared back at him. His eyes were burning with defiance, but they were also beginning to water.

“Do you understand that, laddie?” he repeated, pronouncing the words more firmly.

There was still a moment of silence, then...

_Blink_

“You won't cause me any trouble, will you?”

This time, Rumple blinked twice, and Pan was kind enough to brush away a single tear that escaped his eye.

“You've always been a good lad.” He held up the bowl. “I think you deserve your breakfast.”

His eyes flicked down to the bowl, then quickly back to Pan. When the spoon was held to his lips, he kept his jaw shut tight.

“You promised not to cause trouble, grandpa,” Pan reminded him, his voice deceivingly sweet.

Very reluctantly, Rumple opened his mouth. Pan took a generous dose of glob and fed him. The moment he tasted the salt, Rumple's face twisted in disgust and he spit the food, the taste of it lingering.

“Don't be a child, grandpa,” Pan cooed, scooping the mash that had slid down his chin and forcing it inside his mouth again. “You need to eat.”

Rumpelstiltskin whined, which was about the only sound he could produce, and tried to keep his lips shut tight. Pan pried it open as if he were nothing but a puppet for him to manipulate. A spoonful of salty fruit mash was shoved inside his mouth, that Pan then covered with his hand until he had swallowed it down.

“There we go. That wasn't so bad, was it?”

He filled another spoon. Whatever defiance he'd seen in Rumple's eyes before, it was quickly being replaced by a pleading look.

“Open up, grandpa. We have a long way to go.”

“Peter, what are you doing?”

Pan turned to the door, where Neal was standing, looking in with a frown on his face, the wrinkles much more pronounced in the shadowy room. As he did every morning, he'd already put on his black suit and white shirt before leaving the bedroom.

Rumple's attention had turned towards his son's voice, though he couldn't see him.

“I'm giving grandpa his breakfast,” Pan answered, as innocent as ever. He might as well have said he was poisoning the old man and he doubted Neal would lift a finger to protest.

“How nice,” Neal said, in that melancholy way of his. “But this is Regina's job, son, not yours.”

“I'm happy to do it, dad. It's good to spend time with grandpa.”

Neal came closer and, upon seeing him, Rumple seemed to relax. There he was, his boy, safe and sound. However, looking at his father only made Neal's face twist in disgust.

“Look at the mess he's making.”

“My bad,” Pan said. “I'm not really good at this.”

Neal's frowned turned into a little smile. It wasn't as big as Emma's but it was still an affectionate one.

“Nonsense,” he said. “I'm sure you're doing a wonderful job, kiddo. He's just...” The smile faded from his face as he eyed his father again. “He can't do the simplest things.”

“I know. And I don't think he likes Regina's cooking very much.”

“Nobody likes Regina's cooking very much, Peter. That's why we eat take out most of the time.”

Rumple whined.

“Look at that! I think he's trying to say something,” Pan said, with cruelty.

“Peter, I know you love your grandpa, which is commendable given the man he was,” Neal said, the little bit of kindness in his voice directed to Pan, “but his brain has turned to mush a long time ago. He can't barely eat a spoonful of food, let alone talk.”

“No, no, look. Let's show dad how nicely you can eat, grandpa.”

Rumple glared at him, hating him, but this time he swallowed the salty fruit mash without resistance. And then another spoon, and then another.

“There we go,” Pan said. “That wasn't so bad, was it. See, dad? Isn't grandpa clever?”

Neal rolled his eyes. “The day he can pay his own bills again, I'll reconsider.”

Pan extended the bowl to him. “Would you like to try it?”

“Not particularly.”

Pan tilted his head to the side, giving Neal what he thought were sad eyes. “Dad... please? I think it'd be good for grandpa to spend some time with you.”

Neal shook his head and looked to Pan as if he wanted to do anything but interact with dear old dad, but he still took the bowl.

“Only because you asked. Now go get ready for school.”

“Thanks, daddy. Have a great day, grandpa.”

He leaned over to kiss Rumpelstiltskin on the forehead. He was close enough to hear the old man's breath getting caught in his throat.

“I'll come by later,” he promised, before hopping off the bed and heading to his bedroom.

The clothes he'd wore that week had been heaped in the corner. There was a basket for laundry next to the door, but he figured there was no need to use it. Regina would come in every Saturday and do his laundry regardless of where he put his clothes. And there were quite a bit of them. Pan had woken up to a wonderful new wardrobe, full of possibilities and colors and he'd tried something new every day just because he could.

The only item he'd refused to part with was a brown leather jacket that had showed up in the back of his closet, as if someone had put it in there as an afterthought. It felt a little loose on his body and it wasn't as new as everything else. If anything, it looked like a second hand item that had belonged to someone much bigger, but Pan loved it anyway.

He'd just put it on and checked himself out in the mirror – quite the typical teenager, in a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers – when he heard his father crying out, “No! That's disgusting! Why can't you just do – this – one – thing?” followed by the sound of broken ceramic.

Pan smiled to himself and had to make an effort to look worried as he left the bedroom to meet his father in the hallway. He was stripping out of his suit jacket.

“What happened, dad?”

“Your grandfather spat on my suit, is what happened,” he replied, hotly.

Pan spotted the yellowish stain on the left breast of the jacket.

“The man can't talk, but long-distance spitting he can do.”

Pan laughed and Neal looked at him.

“Sorry...”

“No, it's fine. I suppose it's funny,” Neal said, calming himself down. “I just have to change.”

“I'll check on-”

“Leave him. He's fine,” he insisted waving at the door in a dismissive way, though Pan could hear a very soft whimper coming from the bedroom. “Regina can come and clean up the mess later.”

 

 

 

The three of them had fallen into a natural morning routine, where Emma would be up first to supervise Regina's poor cooking skills, her makeup already applied and a judgmental look in her eyes, while her husband and son lingered upstairs a little longer. At breakfast, Pan would sit across from her to chat excitedly about his daily plans as he devoured a bowl of cereal. Neal headed the table, looking very cross with nothing in particular, but lighting up whenever his son addressed him. His parents never talked, and when they did, their words were so curt and to the point they might as well be addressing a business partner rather than a spouse, but they never shouted or argued either. In the Cassidy household, words were quiet and arguments were implied as to preserve the peace.

The topics of conversation varied but Pan could notice certain patterns repeating themselves. Father never mentioned work beyond the odd complaint, and mother sometimes sighed that she had a busy day planned ahead, as she ate her breakfast in small portions and moving with feminine grace. Regina stayed out of sight as much as she could, but she always managed to ruin their meals, be it by salting the coffee or burning the pancakes. It was rather amusing.

No one ever mentioned Mr. Gold.

Every morning, father offered him a ride to the school, but Pan had only accepted it once. He enjoyed walking and it gave him and Felix the privacy they needed to talk. This morning, after mother smoothed the brown leather jacket (“Are you sure you don't want me to have it dry-cleaned, love? You've been wearing it all week.”), he met his friend outside.

One week in Storybrooke had done well by Felix. He still looked too lanky and conveniently threatening, but the bountiful food was making his cheeks less hollow and family life had improved his mood considerably.

“You're looking well,” Pan remarked, joining him on the porch.

Felix gave his friend a crooked smile, a hockey stick thrown over his shoulder in a casual, yet menacing way. After being told that his favorite club and his sword were both forever lost, Felix had spent a couple of hours trying to adapt into a life where weapons were not necessary, but found it very dull. The stick was flimsy by comparison, but it was still better than to walk around with nothing but his own hands to protect Pan and himself. He'd find it in a locker in their school gymnasium and claimed it as his own, carrying it up and down with himself, even though there was no immediate threat.

“What can I say? It was a good morning, Peter,” Felix said.

Pan pointed at the curve of the hockey stick. “You've got a little-”

Felix looked at the blood stain with indifference, but still wiped it away with his sleeve.

“You know you cannot murder him,” Pan reminded him. “That would cause a complication.”

“Why would I do that? He's much more fun alive. You chose him well.”

They walked side by side, looking to anyone like a couple of teenagers in no hurry to get to class.

“I got news for you,” Felix said.

“Yes?”

“The Evil Queen, she's been to the cemetery last night, after she left the house.”

“What was she there for?”

“She looked a little lost at first. But she just left some flowers on a grave and left. A man named Graham Humbert.”

Pan shrugged. “Means nothing to me.”

“According to the date on the tombstone, he died on the last year of her curse. Other than that, she was behaving within expected. But if you're worried-”

“I'm not,” Pan said.

The relevant parts of everyone's past was fed to him in a need-to-know basis. Some of these parts he'd wished for, and some happened just to fill the blank spaces. He knew everything that was relevant about Regina: that she was miserable with her life, that she hated her job and the Cassidy's (apart from Peter), and that she didn't have family or friends in town. Her life consisted of going to work and then back to her tiny apartment, where she spent her evenings alone. That didn't mean that she hadn't been given a past. If Humbert had been someone of significance, then it made sense that he'd still be in her mind. Pan could pry the information out of her some other time.

“Keep an eye on her,” Pan said. “Just to be sure.”

“What of the Savior?”

“ _Mother_ is doing fine, thank you for asking. She wants you to come for dinner some time.”

Felix laughed.

“And Baelfire?”

“Even better.”

He recounted the encounter Neal had had with his father in the morning, which only made Felix laugh harder as they veered into main street. The lively colors of graffiti and _Ruby's_ bright sign had become a familiar morning sight, like the premonition of a good day to come. The girl was already in front of the diner, scantly dressed despite the chill coming from the beach. The lipstick she'd chosen that morning was as bright as the neon on the diner sign.

“Look at my favorite boys!” she beamed, a basket of candy at hand, her mouth stretched from ear to ear.

Pan greeted her with a casual, “Hi, Miss Ruby.” Felix nodded, but preferred not to say a word.

“I hope you boys will come by later for our after school special.”

“Is it good?”

“Is it good?” she repeated, feigning offense. “It is _very_ good. Granny baked them herself and she's been slaving in the kitchen since before the sun came up. Here!” She opened the basket to show the contents to the boys. A variety of cookies and cupcakes. “I was going to take this to the Sheriff Department.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Sheriff Jones is in a bad mood today because some boys pranked him, but you can take some to school.”

“Thank you, Miss Ruby,” Pan said, helping himself to the contents of the basket.

Felix took a bite out of a cupcake and asked, as he chewed, “What prank was it?”

“Some kids attacked him with a water gun.” Ruby laughed in a high pitch. “I mean, isn't that just _hysterical_?”

“Super,” Felix agreed, in a deadbeat voice. “But we should go. School.”

“Okay, you boys have fun today!” She waved enthusiastically and then skipped her way down the street.

Felix rolled his eyes when Ruby was out of sight. “That prank is getting old.”

“Now, Felix, where is your sense of humor?”

“I see nothing fun in attacking a pirate with water every day of the week.”

“A Sheriff, but if you're bored, feel free to interfere. _Without_ the hockey stick.”

His friend huffed but changed the subject. “I found a cabin in the woods yesterday.”

Pan stopped on his tracks. “And?”

“He wasn't there.”

In his mind, Pan ticked another place off the list he'd been writing, which by now included the hospital, the school, the mines, and the bed and breakfast Granny used to run but that Ruby had decided to close down after years of having no guests whatsoever.

“I'll try the ships today,” Felix continued. “But I think you might want to pressure the Dark One into compliance.”

“Not yet,” Pan said. “I need him more malleable. Rumple can be cunning when he wants to. He wouldn't have put himself into this situation without a plan. For all I know, he's hidden another fail-safe and is waiting for a chance to trick us into activating it.”

“You can always cut bits out of Baelfire.”

“I need him alive.”

Felix gave him a look, but suggested, “The girl, then.”

Pan considered it. “If it comes to it. I have the feeling Rumple will break sooner than you might expect.”

“I'm sure you're making his life unbearable- where are you going?” Felix asked, upon seeing him turn the other way.

“To visit our friend.”

“You'll be late for school. Again.”

“And _again_ , I'm sure Miss Blanchard won't mind. Here!”

Pan threw him one of Ruby's cupcakes.

“Tell her it's from me. I'm pretty sure this one's apple.”

 

 

 

His morning stop before school was the hospital, which he had visited every day of that week. More precisely, the room in the basement that very few people were allowed to visit due to the gravity of the illness of its only occupant. To make the space more adequate to the patient, the walls had been painted a delicate shade of pink that wouldn't have been misplaced in a nursery. It did nothing to make the rooms more hospitable nor the hallways less cold.

There was a nurse at the desk and Pan could never force her to smile, no matter how much he willed it, but who turned considerably less hostile when he was in the room. And she was reliable, which was all that mattered. She looked up from her crossword puzzle to see who'd opened the door, but asked no questions when she saw him.

“Good evening, nurse,” he greeted, leaning over with a smile on his lips. “Did she have a good night?”

“Same as always,” she answered, without looking up.

Pan listened closely. From the end of the corridor, he could hear a child sobbing between desperate words. Yet another occurrence that had become part of his routine.

“Dr. Hopper is almost done, if you'd like to wait,” she said, helpful without striving for nice.

Pan made his way to the door. The nurse looked up for just a second like she _knew_ she was supposed to stop him because teenage boys shouldn't be in hospital basements visiting troubled children, but the thought only lasted a moment and was quickly forgotten.

There was a long row of doors that led to empty rooms. Pan hadn't had the need to put them to use yet, but it was comforting to know they were there in case someone broke out of character. The only room that was currently occupied belonged once to Rumpelstiltskin's beauty, and Pan had since made it much cozier. All things considered, he might be a tyrant, but he was indisputably more generous than Regina had been.

Dr. Hopper left the room a minute later, looking flustered and carrying in his hands the remains of what had once been colorful drawings, and now were only shreds of paper. It was easy to read the other man's face, each line making it clear that this session, as the ones he'd had before, had been a disaster. His somber face lightened up when he saw Pan, though.

“Peter!” he said, with a smile so large it was like he was trying to compensate for the nurse's mood. “How nice to see you.”

He struggled with the papers and the suitcase and the umbrella, but managed to extend a hand to shake his.

“Good evening, Mr. Mayor,” he said, solemn.

“Archie, please. I don't think I'll ever get used to the title.”

Pan eyed the closed door. “How is she doing?”

Hopper sighed. “Terribly, I'm afraid. She keeps tearing the pictures from the wall and she's still fairly delusional.”

“Is she still talking about fairies and mermaids?”

Hopper pushed his glasses up his nose with his knuckles. “I shouldn't talk about my patients, you know?”

“Of course. I just worry about poor Wendy. She's so young.”

“Not much younger than you.”

“Yes, but still... how can someone _that young_ be so broken?”

“Who knows? Who knows what happened to that poor girl. I'm just glad she has at least one friend who comes to visit her. No one else seems willing to do that.”

His words were grateful and sincere. Pan could see that some people were struggling with their roles, but Archie Hopper was not one of them. Being responsible for little Wendy, as well as the entire town, eased him into his new life without raising questions. Mary Margaret and Regina probably woke up every morning wondering how they ended up there, but Hopper didn't. The man craved a role to play and a charge to be burdened with.

“You come to see her, too,” Pan said, “which is really nice of you, considering that you have so many important things to do now.”

Hopper shrugged with genuine humility. “It's only a couple of hours. And anyway, it's good to get a break from all the city work.”

“I bet you're bored of it.”

“It... can be challenging,” he admitted. “I became Mayor to make a difference but... it's not as easy as I thought it would be.”

A metallic sound came from the cell, startling Archie Hopper and making Pan grin from ear to ear - the mayor either didn't notice it, or took comfort in it.

“Seems like she's not having a good day,” Pan said.

“No, definitely not,” Hopper agreed. “I suppose that was her food tray.”

“Maybe I'll cheer her up.”

Hopper looked concerned. “Peter, I'm not sure this is the best idea. I applaud you for coming back, given what happened last time, but... well, she's fairly delusional and-”

“And she still blames me.”

Hopper didn't say anything.

“It's okay, Dr. Hopper. I understand that's not her fault. She's just a little girl, and she's terrified.”

Hopper opened his mouth to insist, but his cellphone interrupted him. His face paled when he saw who was calling.

“It's your father. I better get that.”

Pan lingered in the corridor, eavesdropping as Hopper walked away, his voice turning from friendly to subservient. “I'm sorry, Mr. Cassidy. I turned it off, I was with a patient- Yes, I understand that my cabinet should be a priority, but- Absolutely, right away-”

He disappeared up the stairs that led away from the basement, having forgotten all about Wendy and Peter in his haste not to upset the most powerful person in town. When Pan opened the door to Wendy's room, no one was there to stop him.

On Monday, Wendy had woken up to a long, beautiful braid that fell all the way down her back, in a room that, despite the bars on the window, was equipped with a vast collection of dolls and stuffed animals, and a small cabinet of books. Despite hospital regulations demanding that patients wore a gown at all times, Pan had also given her a pretty white dress and a modest wardrobe. Wendy was a beautiful girl and she deserved to feel as such.

By Tuesday night, the books had been reduced to shreds, the stuffed animals and the dolls dismembered limb by limb, and the only remaining piece of clothing she had was the pretty white dress, and that was only so she wouldn't have to be naked. She'd had to be medicated repeatedly and, on Thursday, the drugs had made her eyes hazy and her words a soft whisper of disconnected thoughts. Pan hated to see her like that but he couldn't deny her bounds of anger had helped convince Dr. Hopper that the girl was a menace to herself and everybody else.

Today, though, the effect of the medication had worn off and her eyes were alert and terrified. Wendy had curled herself on her bed, back pressed against the wall as she hugged her knees to her chest, looking to the world like a lost girl who didn't understand her reality.

Pan scavenged the room, noting the crayons scattered on the floor and the food tray flipped over, its contents wasted and untouched. He tutted at the mess and shook his head as he closed the door behind himself. The sound of the lock made Wendy startle.

“Wendy, Wendy,” he sighed, feigning sorrow. “Why can't you just behave like a good girl?”

Not for a moment did she take her eyes from him, much like Rumple. Except that his son still looked at him with defiance, while Wendy was just scared of what might happened if she took her eyes from Pan.

“Look at what happened to your beautiful drawings-” he said, only to be interrupted by her bridle voice.

“They're not mine.”

“Sure they are. We made them together just last week-”

“I wasn't here last week. I was going home. And you were gone.”

She sounded more like she was repeating a mantra than stating a fact. She wasn't sure of anything, but then again how could she? She hadn't left that puny room in a week and there didn't seem to be a single soul in her life able to explain what was going on outside her walls.

Pan sat by her bed. Wendy shrank against the wall even more. Her eyes were wet from before but she wasn't crying now. She had always been a brave girl. That was why Pan loved her. That girl alone was worth seven boys, or more.

“You're just confused, Wendy, you poor thing,” he said.

“I'm not confused,” she said, weak.

“Of course you are. You must know how you sound to everyone else, telling these stories of far off places, and boys that can fly, and demonic shadows that steal children away in the middle of the night. It sounds craz-”

“Don't call me crazy!” she snapped.

Wendy had come to detest that word rather quickly. Pan wondered if it had to do with many decades ago, when she'd spent months telling her parents her foster brother had been abducted by a flying shadow, only to be told repeatedly that there had to be something wrong with her. If she hadn't come to Neverland, if Pan hadn't rescued her, she'd have probably ended up exactly like this, except her doctors wouldn't have been as loving as Dr. Hopper.

“I don't know what you did,” she said, low and determined. Pan would much rather she sounded like this, the plucky girl he'd once welcomed into his life. “I don't understand it, not all of it. But you did something.”

“What did I do?” he asked, taunting her.

“Something!” she answered, that single word just as fierce as it was lost. “This land, you've changed it.”

“How?”

“Magic.”

Pan smiled in a condescending way and smoothed her messy, dirty hair. She flinched from his touch but had nowhere to escape from it. The last time he'd tried to touch her, she'd slapped him across the face with surprising strength, but given how harshly the nurse had handled her after that he doubted she'd react that violently again.

“I've always admired your imagination, Wendy,” he said, “but you shouldn't let it run so wild. This is how you ended up in here in the first place.”

“Someone will believe me.”

“Who?”

She didn't know. She didn't even think that person existed. Pan could see it in her eyes.

“You need to stop telling lies, Wendy,” he told her. “Or else you won't ever be allowed to leave. Wouldn't you rather be home?”

Wendy swallowed back her determination and asked, her voice as mild as Dr. Hopper's, “Will John and Michael be there?”

“We've talked about this, Wendy. There is no John and Mi-”

“ _You're a liar_!” she shouted.

In a heartbeat, the severe nurse had opened the door and looked inside, her merciless eyes on her troublesome patient.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, with no real concern or compassion.

“Everything's fine, nurse,” Pan answered. “Wendy's just a little upset, that's all.”

The nurse closed the door slowly, an eye still on the little girl while completely ignoring Pan.

“I wish you wouldn't be so difficult, Wendy,” he said, getting up. “Behaving like this you will never get out of here.”

Wendy's eyes stared at the door. An entire week of being ignored, drugged, and manhandled by the staff and she still couldn't believe that this had become her reality.

“I'll behave,” she said, breathless and desperate. “I'll behave, I'll be your mother-”

“I don't need a mother anymore-”

“Then I'll be whatever it is that you want me to be. If you only let me know that they are safe- _Wait_!”

She jumped out of bed just in time to bang her little fists on the metal door as Pan closed it behind him.

“You need to think things through, Wendy, darling,” he shouted above the noise. “I'll be back on Monday, so we can talk some more.”

He turned around and made his way back down the corridor, her desperate pounding and sobbing following every step of the way. Before he left, he could hear the nurse grumbling to herself, “Why can't all kids be this nice?”

 

 

 

That night, as he watched the clock tower from his bedroom window, Pan wondered what had become of Neverland. Was it now empty and dark, a place for children to visit in their nightmares? Or maybe just a place for shadows to lurk in, where children were no longer welcome? The thought of it made him feel a little mournful. Neverland was the first place to make him feel safe and at home since he was ten years old and, even as he saw it wither and die before his eyes, he never thought it would come the day when he'd have to leave it behind.

Storybroke was a promising substitute, though. The Dark Curse had given him complete control over the lives of everyone in his new Neverland, even Rumple, whose powers had been drained, and Wendy, whose mind couldn't be easily twinkled with.

Had he known rewriting Wendy's story would become impossible, Pan would have handled her with more care in the past. However, never could he have foreseen that this was where his fate would lead him. He wasn't an ambitious man, quite the opposite. He had no desire of pursuing revenge, or reigning over the realms. He didn't need a town full of souls to be happy. If only he were left alone with his youth and Neverland, a handful of boys to play with and his dear Wendy, that would have been enough. If he'd been allowed to keep the Heart of the Truest Believer, Rumple and the boy's family would have never heard of him again.

It had never been his plan to be trapped in time in a new land, especially one with such limited magic. In that sense, Storybrooke Island wasn't so different from Neverland. It would have been, once, when Neverland was still an enchanting place; however, by the time he left the land that had become his home for over two centuries, it had become so barren he could barely recognize it. The fairies had perished, the mermaids had vanished, the pixie flowers had died and taken away the magic. Pan thought he'd fix everything once he acquired Henry Mills' heart, but he never had the chance.

Once again, he needed the Heart of the Truest Believer, that was the only way to get everything that he wanted. Once that was done, magic would come to his new island and Storybrooke would become what Pan desperately yearned for it to be. His son could be eliminated at last, and little Wendy would be allowed out of her hospital room, as tamed as everyone else.

Life would finally be perfect.

“You're still awake.”

Pan turned to the door, where his mother stood, wrapped in a salmon robe and with her hair tied up in a bun. She looked ready for bed but still beautiful.

“I just wanted to take one last look,” he told her, gazing out of the open window one more time.

“You always need one last look,” Emma said, amused by her silly son. “The view will still be there in the morning, you know?”

“I know,” Pan said, though his voice lacked in conviction when it really shouldn't. His mother was right. For once, time was on his side. And he was being careful. Pan never made the same mistake twice – that had been Malcolm's greatest flaw and he'd learned from it.

Emma came to sit by the window with him. “What is bothering that little head of yours?”

“Wendy Darling.”

“That girl again,” Emma said, her voice denoting her disapproval.

“I went to see her today.”

“And I wish you wouldn't. She slapped you so hard last time.”

Her thumb stroked his cheek where the little red mark had been. His mother was getting better at these gentle touches. He knew that Emma wasn't an affectionate woman by nature, which explained the hesitation he sometimes felt in her gestures, but after a week, she seemed to have accepted her maternal role and now played it with excellence.

“She's only a child, mom,” he said.

“Yes, I understand,” Emma replied, though it was clear that she still didn't appreciate her only son being slapped around, no matter how young or sick the offender might be.

“Maybe one day she'll be alright,” Pan told her. “And they'll let her out.”

Emma offered a “It's possible” as her answer so that she wouldn't have to break her son's heart with the truth. Pan could hear doubt in her voice, but he still appreciated the attempt.

“When she leaves, she's going to need a home.”

“Yes?”

“I mean, if she's a good girl, maybe we could be that home.”

Emma smiled with true adoration. “You are such a good kid, Petey.” She got up. “Come, darling. I'll tuck you into bed.

“I'm not a child, mom,” he protested, weakly.

“You're not a grown man either. I think you can indulge your mother a little bit.”

He threw himself on the bed, making his mother laugh. She pulled the covers up to his chin and tucked them under his body, keeping him constrained and warmed, like in a mother's hug. She kissed his forehead and then went to the window.

“Leave it open,” he told her.

“Darling, you'll get sick with all the wind.”

“I'll be fine, mom. Please.”

She shook her head. “How come I always let you do what you want?”

“I'm very persuasive.”

“Yes, you took that after your father.” She turned off the lights. “I love you, my darling. Now go to sleep. No more staring at the window.”

“Yes, mother.”

Emma left and Pan turned on the bed to look at the clock tower in the distance. This was far from perfect, there was still so much to do, so many flaws to fix, things he could only work on once he had the Heart of the Truest Believer. But Storybrooke was quickly starting to feel like home.

 

 

 

_Father never allowed him to go anywhere and had scorned him multiple times for sneaking out of the house. As far as he was concerned, it was best for Malcolm to be close to home and to his mother, where he could help her with her many chores. That he wanted to bring him along to the market was truly something special._

_Before they left, mother gave him a tight hug and a kiss, but hurried inside before Malcolm had the chance to wave goodbye from the road._

“ _Will there be animals, papa?” he asked, following his father's large stride with quick little steps of his own._

“ _Not today, Malcolm,” father said, his voice as solemn as always. He was a very rational man and his voice never had any passion to it. Malcolm felt sorry for him sometimes. Mother was strict, but at least she laughed now and then, and she always had a smile ready for her son. Father seemed to waste his every minute calculating. Be it the food on their plates or the clothes his mother washed, everything adding up to his tally, money in, money out, and there never seemed to be enough. If only father believed in fairies and other wonderful things, then perhaps he'd be happier._

“ _Are we going to buy things at the market?” Malcolm continued, sounding chipper even though papa wasn't looking at him._

“ _We're going to see the blacksmith.”_

“ _What does a blacksmith do?”_

_Father mulled over the question before answering, “They do many things. Wonderful things.”_

_The word caught his attention immediately. Father wasn't given to using the word wonderful. Things were either good or bad, sometimes terrible, but that was the range of his vocabulary._

“ _Really?”_

“ _Yes. Like horseshoes. And swords.”_

“ _And we will see that?”_

“ _Perhaps. Now stop asking questions.”_

_Malcolm pressed his lips together and allowed his imagination to start running. He pictured knights in shiny armor brandishing polished swords and riding white horses. What kind of man could make such magnificent things? Someone noble, surely. Someone who looked as brave and as fierce as the knights whose armors he made. He had to have strong hands and oh! Imagination, yes, that thing that father admonished so very much but that had to be vital to a man who made created beauty out of metal._

_The walk was longer than expected and his feet were growing tired by the time they reached the market, but Malcolm didn't mind. He could fill every minute of every day with only the wild thoughts in his head. The moment he finally set his eyes on the blacksmith, though, all of his thoughts came crashing down with disappointment. There didn't seem to be anything remotely noble about him. He was a large man with a round chin and a heavy build. His arms were very muscular,but his belly fell over his belt. He did have big hands, yes, but those were more scary than anything else._

_When they approached him, the blacksmith was handling a big hammer as if it weighed nothing in his hands, pounding something over an anvil. Malcolm couldn't tell what that thing was but it didn't look like an armor, or a sword. The moment papa called him, he put the hammer down and came to meet them. Malcolm could smell coal, sweat and ale as the man came closer. He didn't smile and the moment his ogreish face turned to look at him, Malcolm shrank down with fear, clutching his father's hand._

“ _Is tha' 'im?” he asked._

_Father said, “Yes.”_

“ _Rather scrawny. What good will 'e be?”_

_Father let go of his hand to pat him on the head, a gesture he hardly ever did, and never with such affection._

“ _He's growing up fast, aren't you, laddie?”_

_Malcolm didn't answer._

“ _Yes,” father said, “so fast. You'll be a fine, strong lad very soon.”_

_The blacksmith didn't seem convinced and twisted his ugly face into something truly terrifying when he saw Malcolm's eyes beginning to water._

“ _Tha' will cause trouble. I don't want no whiny kid.”_

“ _He won't whine. Isn't that right, Malcolm?” Father stooped to his level and held him gently by the chin. “You're a brave little lad, aren't you?”_

“ _Yes,” Malcolm answered. That much he knew to be true. He was always brave in his stories. He could dance with fairies, swordfight with pirates, and swim to the bottom of the sea with mermaids. The blacksmith, however, made him tremble with fear._

“ _Yes, good lad. Such a good lad.” Father took a deep breath. “You're going to go with Mr. Mullins now.”_

“ _Papa-”_

“ _You're going to go with Mr. Mullins now and you'll be a good boy to him, yes? He needs a brave and strong lad, such as yourself, to help him around.”_

_Malcolm thought about what father was saying. “And if I help him around, then we can go home?”_

_Father cleared his throat and smoothed down the mustache he kept so neatly trimmed. “No. Not right now, laddie.”_

“ _Why?”_

“ _Because... well, it's complicated, laddie. You see, you're growing up now. You need to find a job.”_

“ _But I don't want to grow up.”_

“ _We all have to, laddie. I know it's soon.” He lowered his eyes. The hands that had been smoothing his shirt gripped his shoulders. “It's too soon, so very soon. But it's time for you to find an apprenticeship. Become a man.”_

“ _But what about mommy?”_

“ _She'll think of you every night. We both will.”_

“ _But when can I come home with you?”_

“ _'e talks too much,” growled the blacksmith._

“ _No, no, he's a quiet lad,” his father said, urgently. To him, he whispered, “Malcolm, laddie, please, you need to be brave now.”_

“ _But papa-”_

“ _It's time for you to grow up. We all have to, eventually.”_

_Father got up from the floor and patted his back, nudging him towards the blacksmith, who extended his hand. It wasn't a friendly gesture. Malcolm rubbed the tears from his eyes and tried to keep his chin up. Be brave now, that was what father had said. He could be brave._

_When the blacksmith grabbed his tiny hand, it wasn't with a mother's love, or even with a father's protection, but a possessive grip. Malcolm might as well have been a hammer being passed around._

_Mullins pulled him away from his father with such a strength that Malcolm almost lost his balance. A small bag was shoved into father's hand. Inside of it, something tinkled, but without the merriness of a fairy._

“ _He's a good boy, Mr. Mullins,” he said. “You'll take good care of him, yes?”_

“ _What I do with 'im is no' yer problem.”_

_Malcolm could see father's apple rise and fall. The hand holding the bag of coins seemed to clutch it even harder. Then, without glancing at his son, he turned around and disappeared into the crowd._

_Mullins pulled his hand like a man pulling a leash._

“ _Ye better no' eat much, boy,” he growled, leading Malcolm into the darkness of his shop._

 

 

 

Pan woke up that morning with the smell of coal in his nostrils and a roaring hunger in his stomach. For a moment, he lied perfectly still under the blankets, expecting someone to yank them away, but no one did and, after a while, he started feeling foolish. More than nightmares, Pan hated memories. They seeped into his mind with ease and blended with the present until there was no telling your thoughts apart. It wasn't until he'd splashed a handful of cold water on his face that he felt anchored in his reality.

Storybrooke Island.

The Heart.

His mission.

Home.

It was already a quarter past eleven by the time he went downstairs to find his mother reading. His father's voice was coming from his study, but the words impossible to make out. He sounded angry, so it was possible that he was dealing with the Mayor.

“You slept late,” mother remarked, without making any judgment.

“No school,” he said.

“You can have a bowl of cereal before lunch, if you'd like. Regina still has to feed your grandfather, and you know how she is with time management.” Mother pulled a face. “We probably won't eat before two o'clock.”

“I can take care of grandpa, then Regina can start on lunch.”

Mother looked at him adoringly. “Petey, there's no need. It is her job, after all.”

“I'd be happy to do it.”

Pan went back upstairs, but did so in quiet steps. The second floor of the house was silent and, as he approached the bedroom door, he could hear Regina cooing, “There you go,” or “Very good, Mr. Gold,” in a dispassionate voice that implied boredom more than a caring nature. She clearly didn't think Mr. Gold being able to swallow food without chocking was a reason to be proud, or very interested.

He stood near the door for a couple more minutes, but their conversation didn't progress from that, so he walked in.

“Morning, Regina.”

“Look, Mr. Gold!” she said, showing excitement for the first time. “It's your grandson, he's come to visit you. Isn't that nice?”

Pan could see Rumple rolling his eyes. Such an attitude, that boy.

“I did. If you want to start on lunch, I can take over.”

Rumple croaked like a frog. Regina didn't pay him attention.

“Your mother won't approve of that.”

“She won't mind. I've told her I'd be happy to do it.”

“Well... in _that_ case, I do need to get started.”

_Croak_

“Don't be stubborn, Mr. Gold,” Regina tutted. “You and I both know I have more important things to tend to.”

Regina handed Pan the bowl of greenish glob she'd been trying to feed to Rumple. It might be her least appetizing dish yet. He waited until the squeaking of her sneakers had died down the stairs before settling on the bed and holding a spoonful of food to his son's lips. Rumple pressed them shut.

“Are we going to do this again?” he said, like he was addressing a stubborn child. “I can easily go downstairs and add black pepper to it, if you'd like.” He sniffed the food and made a face. “Honestly, it might be an improvement. But the kitchen is too far and I'm already here, so open up.”

Reluctantly, he did so and swallowed three spoonfuls of food without making a fuss. When Pan offered a straw to drink water with, he drained half the glass in one swallow, either fearing he'd take the glass away to leave him parched, or trying to wash away the taste of Regina's cooking.

“Now,” Pan said, putting the water down, “we can have a conversation. Grandfather to grandson.”

Rumpelstiltskin huffed.

“Don't be difficult. I only have one question today and I think you know what that is.”

_Blink_

Pan stared at him. The answer had come so easily that it surprised him.

“Very well,” he continued, covering his shock. “Then you understand that I will do whatever I need to in order to find the boy.”

He blinked again, impassive.

“You're not an idiot lad,” Pan granted. “You wouldn't have put yourself in this situation without a bargain chip. Well, it's time to bargain.”

His son didn't react.

Pan leaned closer. “You know where the boy is.”

It wasn't a question, but Rumple still blinked twice.

Pan raised an eyebrow.

Rumple blinked again, same as before.

_No, I do not._

“You shouldn't lie to me,” Pan told him. “Not when you're in this position.”

 _I'm not_.

Pan got up to pace to room, thinking the short walks from one wall to the other might help his frustration. He'd expected Rumple to deny it. What he hadn't expected was to believe him.

“Perhaps you don't know his location,” he granted. “But that doesn't mean you don't know how to find him.”

His son didn't answer. He knew there would be no point in lying.

“Well then. Wait here.”

Rumple narrowed his eyes at him. _Very funny_.

Pan got out of the room and, when he came back, he brought a wheelchair with him.

“Look at what I found in the back of the guestroom closet? I was looking everywhere for it.”

He had to hold Rumple by the chin and tilt his head so he could see it and, when he did, he didn't look very impressed by it. The wheelchair seemed to be archaic and it was covered in rust and dust from lack of use. Worst of all, it creaked in a very unsafe way as Pan pushed it, back and forth. The prospect of using it didn't seem to please him very much.

“Mom and dad should be out after lunch, and then Felix and I will take you for a-”

His words were cut off by the slamming of a door.

Pan jolted so hard at the noise that the wheelchair escaped his hands. One of the two smaller wheels at the front broke free and the whole thing tumbled on its side, making a rattling, metallic sound. He paid it no attention.

The door, it hadn't been the wind. He was more than familiar with the angry slamming of doors and he could tell someone was taking their feelings out on it. That was unusual. The Cassady's didn't slam doors and they didn't scream when their son was within earshot. And yet, Pan could hear the loud exchanging of words downstairs as his parents had what seemed to be a very passionate discussion.

Without giving Rumple an explanation, he rushed to the living room, jumping the stairs two steps at a time.

His mother was saying, in what had become an urgent whisper, “How could this happen?”

“Hopper is an idiot, is how this could happen,” father replied, in a thunderous voice that made mother go, “Shh! Your son can hear you, will you keep it quiet?”

“What's going on?” Pan asked, genuinely confused. He hated that feeling. He was not supposed to be confused and overwhelmed, not in this world, not in his own home.

Mother's eyes turned pitiful and even father softened as he looked at his son.

“Hey, buddy. I thought you were with your grandfather.”

“Sweetheart, go back upstairs, we're just-”

“What – happened?” he repeated, more firmly, willing them to tell the truth.

Still, mother hesitated with her words and went to give him a hug instead. “It'll be alright, Petey, my darling. This is all that you need to remember, yes? It'll turn out alright.”

Pan looked at father, whose face was red and covered in sweat from having to deal with idiots all morning. But when he talked to Pan, his voice was careful and kind.

“It's little Wendy Darling. It seems that she has escaped her room.”

 

 

 


	5. A Cry for Help (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: This chapter starts back on the first day of Pan's Curse.

In the silence that followed Belle's answer, Maleficent invited her to come closer and sit by the torch. Belle supposed it was a gesture of good will but it didn't make her feel any warmer than she was before and the shadows it projected on the stone walls only made it clear that there was no way out. The fact that she was now so close to the other woman didn't make her feel any safer either. Maleficent might not have her powers but Belle could see she was still a strong woman, if she decided to forgo their agreement and try to run away (where to, she did not know), it wouldn't take much effort for the other woman to chase her down and beat her into obedience.

But right now, Belle wasn't sure if staying with her was that much better.

 _I should have said no_ , she thought, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them like a little child. By now, she should know better than to make deals with a witch, she understood how binding such agreements could be. For all her cleverness, she might not find a way out of this one.

However, her cleverness alone would not have gotten her out of that coffin either.

“Don't get too cozy,” Maleficent said, more harshly than she had to. “Your job isn't done yet.”

Belle shivered as the witch towered over her again.

“Up with you, Belle.”

She hated the sound of her own name on Maleficent's lips. She spoke it with just as much contempt as when she had called her “the pretty maid”. There was no doubt in her mind that Maleficent didn't think of her as an equal but rather a piece in a game of chess she'd have no qualms sacrificing to achieve her goals.

She was staring down at her, waiting. Belle sighed and wondered how could she sign for just a few more moments of peace. Maleficent knelt down to her level again.

“You're tired and cold and afraid,” she stated, “and that is just too bad because this torch is not going to burn forever. We're trapped underground and there isn't much to feed this fire with. Once it dies, we're both going to be in the dark.”

Belle shrank into herself. It hadn't crossed her mind yet that this would become a problem. That she might be trapped in the dark with a witch. A dragon.

_I should've said no._

“I've spent thirty miserable years trapped down here,” Maleficent continued. “I know every nook and cranny of this wretched place.” She pointed somewhere in the dark, far away from them and where the fire could not reach. “I remember there is a tunnel there, at the lowest part of the cave, but I was too big to fit into it. That won't work for us. It's too deep and too dark for either of us to climb down fast enough. The fire will die before we get there and we'll just be blind and just as trapped as we were before. However-”

Unceremoniously, she grabbed Belle's arm and hoisted her up again. Belle emitted a sound that was more out of surprise than protest. It made her stitches vibrate painfully and it went completely ignored. Maleficent started pulling her into the dark but only took her a few feet away before letting go of her arm.

“Do you see this?” she asked, holding the torch up to the wall.

Belle squinted in the dark. For a moment, she thought she was staring at stone, but then she caught a glimpse of metal embedded in the rock and understood what she was looking at.

_The elevator!_

They were standing in the elevator shaft, right under her very own library, the one she'd never had the chance to open.

For a moment, hope burned warm and bright inside of her and Belle could envision herself finally getting out of there, but then she understood that the elevator was out of her reach. Maleficent held up the torch. It was not enough to illuminate all the way up.

“I saw them come and go with this machine,” Maleficent said. “I don't fully understand how it works but I know you need the metal cage, and that is all the way up _there._ Your job is to bring it down here.”

Belle stared at her. Did she mistake her for someone with magic?

“Yes, I suppose this is going to be the hard part,” she admitted, and moved her torch closer to the wall.

Stuck on the rock, perhaps seven feet above them, there was a series of crooked, rusty metal handles, forming an uneven and clearly unreliable access ladder all the way up.

Belle took a step back.

_No._

It made sense now why Maleficent had let her out. It wasn't just for information, she needed someone to do the hard work. There was no way anyone could survive going up there, and on such an unsteady path.

Well, if that witch expected her to test the way and see if it was safe, she had another thing coming.

“This isn't a request, Belle,” she said. Surprisingly, it didn't sound like a command either. “If I could've done this myself, I would have.”

Skepticism must have showed on her face because Maleficent rolled her eyes.

“If you don't trust my honesty, then trust my indifference to you. I could've traded Rumpelstiltskin's loyalty for the location of your coffin and let _him_ deal with you.”

Belle wasn't sure she appreciated the bluntness of it but at least she knew it was true. She doubted the witch would have rescued her at all if she didn't need her help.

“You're the only one who can climb up. Regina made sure I wouldn't be able to.”

Belle was looking at her, waiting for an explanation. Maleficent held up her free hand and showed her her palm, which was now covered in blisters and burnt skin. Belle didn't like the sight of it and didn't feel any more compelled to going up that ladder. For all she knew, Pan had cursed it to keep her down there.

As if reading her thoughts, Maleficent said, “This is Regina, I am certain. I was the one who taught her this spell.” She looked at the ladder longingly. “She's using it to taunt me. If I ever managed to regain human form, I wouldn't be able to leave, even if I tried. The only way I'm getting out of here is through that metal box, but _you_ -” she aimed her eyes at Belle again. “You're not _Regina's_ prisoner.”

 _Not anymore,_ Belle thought with a surge of anger.

“You're Pan's and I don't think he expected you to get out of that coffin, not when it was made by dwarfs. You can climb up there.”

Belle still didn't seem particularly inclined to try it.

“If darkness or me aren't enough to get you moving, then how about this?” Maleficent said, losing her patience. She brought the torch so close to her face Belle thought she was going to burn her. “This torch was already here, waiting just outside this entrance. It wasn't put there for you, which means Pan will come by at any moment to make sure you're still where you're supposed to be. We're both on borrowed time. Without my powers, we don't stand a fair chance against him.”

Belle swallowed in the dark. She was right. If he showed up, then this would have been for nothing. She'd be back in her coffin and Maleficent would be taken, or dead.

She looked up into the darkness. She'd never made the trip all the way down but she assumed it was rather deep into the earth. And then there was another problem: even if she did manage to climb all the way up to the top, she could only hope for a trap door, which she had never noticed before but, in all likelihood, _should_ exist because who'd build a stairway to nowhere?

 _Regina would_ , Belle told herself, _if she was feeling sadistic enough. If she wanted her victim to squirm and suffer._

She remembered her cell in Regina's castle, which seemed smaller every day she wasted inside of it. What made it truly small, though, was the chain around her ankle that limited her movements to about half the space. After being released, Belle thought back to that place and realized it was probably the same size as her childhood bedroom. The chain was what made it look small. She could only move on about a third of the place, and the only window, her way into the outside world even if only through a glimpse, was just inches away. That had been the real torture, more than the boredom and the knowledge that the ones she loved probably thought her dead or worse. She wasn't even allowed to look out of the window, all she had were walls on which to write her tally marks.

Regina would find it amusing if her prisoner climbed all the way up, risking her life and enduring the burn and the blisters on her hands, only to find out that her effort had been in vain.

On the other hand, Belle assumed Regina still had some self-preservation left. If she happened to get stuck down here, with a dragon, she'd have given herself a way out. Besides, Rumple had told her that the elevator required two people to work, unless you had magic, which Regina didn't have for twenty eight years. If she had to come down here by herself, she'd have found a way.

Maleficent was smiling now.

“Are you ready, then?”

 

 

 

The first handle was just out of her reach. Maleficent, with her towering height, could stretch out an arm and touch it, while Belle fell short at least a couple of feet. She didn’t even try to stand on the tip of her toes, knowing that would be useless and would only accentuate her impotence to the other woman. Maleficent put the torch back where she’d first found it, right outside the elevator shaft, which covered their surroundings in shadows. She was right. If they waited much longer, they might end up in complete darkness.

“I don’t believe you can just reach out and touch it,” Maleficent said, and Belle dared to throw her an annoyed look. Now she was just being condescending for the sake of it. Maleficent tittered in the dark. “I’ll give you a hand, then.”

Belle didn’t know what to expect, though she was fairly certain Maleficent didn’t intent on going on all fours and allowing a lowly maid to step on her back, even if that meant their survival. The witch tapped her shoulder, indicating that she should face the wall, and then placed her hands on her waist. Belle didn’t like the proximity, it made her feel more trapped than the shadowy walls of the cave.

“Now, pretty maid, jump as high as you can,” she whispered.

Belle felt the shoes she was wearing and found them to be flat and rubbery, nothing like the heels she’d worn when the curse hit, but probably better for climbing. Taking a deep breath, she flexed her knees and gave herself a push. Maleficent’s hands clawed at her sides and, for a second, Belle realized she hadn’t been mistaken, she was truly strong, practically lifting her to the lowest handle. Belle grabbed it for dear life and her arms protested immediately, she wasn't used to lifting anything heavier than a pile of books and, while her companion might be strong, she most definitely was not. Unless she hoisted her feet up to start climbing, she’d give in faster than she’d expected.

“Well done, Belle,” Maleficent said, stating the fact rather than giving her a praise. Not that Belle thought she even deserved a compliment. Her legs were flailing rather pathetically in the air, trying to kick the wall and boost herself up. The sooner she got her feet on the access ladder, the higher the chances of actually making it all the way to the top. She felt Maleficent’s hands helping her up and she managed to move one hand to the next handle. And then the next.

She'd just secured a firm grip on the sixth handle, glad that her hands weren't simmering and bursting into blisters though the climb was painful, and she was only a few inches away from hoisting herself up enough to get her foot in the right place-

The handle came loose from the rock, sending her to the ground.

At first, it didn't hurt. Rather, it knocked the air out of Belle's lungs and her lips struggled with the stitches for a second because she wanted to scream and pant. The stitches didn't budge, though, and she was left sprawled, silent and disoriented on the dusty floor, misshapen rocks poking at her skin through the fabric of her clothes.

Maleficent offered her a hand and Belle didn't take it. The pain was finally getting past her initial shock and spreading on her back and hips and she could only hope that she'd broken no bones. Her eyes were on the ceiling, or rather, the lack thereof as she tried to see all the way up in the dark elevator shaft. From where she lied, it seemed endless. There had to be a hundred steps leading all the way up, none of which she could trust. At any moment, she could hold on to a faulty one and fall all the way down, at Maleficent's feet. And if she did, rocks prickling her skin would be the least of her problems.

Maleficent didn’t pressure her up this time, which was probably the only reason why Belle got up. Another cruel word from her and she might have curled into a fetal position and refused to get up on principle. She didn’t take the hand she was offering though.

“Ready to try again?” she asked.

Belle didn’t look at her, instead staring at the handles just above her head, then she gave Maleficent a look over.

She gave her shoulder a tap.

After a beat, Maleficent sighed, resigning herself to Belle's suggestion, and pointed at her feet.

“Shoes off. You’ll get a better grip.”

After Belle had kicked out her rubber-soled shoes and socks - she knew them, she’d worn them before - Maleficent stooped to one knee and Belle climbed on her with careful steps. One foot on her shoulder, then the other woman pushed herself up bringing her closer to her target. Despite the strain she could feel in her arms, Belle tried to be fast and get her feet up. When her toes managed to get a grip on the lowest step of the ladder, she allowed herself to breathe.

For a second, she paid attention to any creaks that might indicate she was due for another fall, but the shaft was silent except for her ragged breathing. She dare to look down ( _One last time, then you won’t do it anymore!_ , she promised herself) and Maleficent was smiling, not six feet bellow. She looked hopeful and, for the first time, Belle felt something akin to companionship for the other woman. For better or worse, they were in this together.

The climb, though, that was on her alone. And it was time to start.

Every step she took was slow and calculated, testing each handle before trying her weight on it. She kept her eyes up, looking for any indication that her path might not be safe, but she gave that up soon, as the darkness around her became absolute. She couldn’t see anything and the faint glow beneath her ( _Don’t look down, don’t do it._ ) seemed as unreachable as a star in the sky, showing her how far she'd fall if she dared to let go.

Belle continued her way up, slow and careful, trying her steps with as much caution as she could. There was no way of counting them in the dark or even use them to get an idea of just how far down they’d been because they were missing in some sessions. At a certain point, there was a gap of at least four and Belle despaired for a second, thinking that there was no way to continue her climb. However, after pushing herself just a little further, her fingers (frantic and desperate for a way out) brushed at the next handle. The metal creaked under her full weight but it didn’t come lose until she’d reached for the next one. It echoed all the way down and she heard something like a cry of surprise from Maleficent, then the faintest sound of her voice, saying, “I take it you’re still going?”

Belle growled and pushed through, squinting in the dark to see before her. It was all darkness. Perhaps, it would go on forever...

She had no idea how long it had been ( _Hours, it has to be hours._ ) when she dared to look up again expecting to see only the blackness that had been hovering above her head. And yes, there it was, the nothing, endless and dark, ready to swallow her. There was also a shadow, so faint that it was nearly impossible to see. It blended into the dark and it was difficult to make out but... it was definitely squared.

With her heart beating fast, Belle had to remind herself to be careful and not hurry up the ladder. Any wrong step could still send her to her death. She persisted on, eyes up now, focusing on her goal. There was definitely something there, if only she were careful. When her hand touched something solid and smooth above her head, Belle had to blink away the tears from her eyes. The elevator floor.

 _Oh, god, please,_ she thought and the words whined out of her mouth through her stitches, nothing more than silly mumbles. _Oh, please, please, let there be a way in._

If Regina had done all of this to torment Maleficent, if there was no door to let her out of that endless climb, if she were to be trapped in there forever, if she had to retrace her steps all the way down to tell-

The floor popped up under the slightest pressure, flooding her eyes with a sliver of light.

 

 

 

Crawling out of the elevator shaft felt like crawling out of hell. At any moment, Belle feared something terrible - a spell, a terrible, cruel spell - would hold on to her ankle and pull her down to where she’d just escaped. Or perhaps something even worse would be waiting for her.

However, as she hurried up the last steps and pulled herself into the elevator, nothing came to claim her or curse her back into the cave. She squeezed herself through the trapdoor, which was barely large enough for her to fit through, and clawed the floor under her hands, legs kicking and pushing and then, blessedly, she was safe.

Belle lied on the floor, tears in her eyes as she allowed herself to be exhausted.

_Just for a moment, then I'll do whatever she wants me to, but I just need one moment._

She breathed and cried and felt so absolutely free that it was hard to believe this long climb had been only the beginning of it. That she still had to rescue Maleficent, and find Rumpelstiltskin, and break the curse, and-

_Just for a moment, please. Just give me a moment._

“Belle?”

Maleficent's voice was faint, barely a sound at all, but it made her open her eyes. She sat up and looked down the trapdoor at the little orange dot that had become Maleficent's torch. It was easy to forget that the other woman was still down there, waiting, and so Belle decided to do just that. Only for a moment, so that she could analyze their situation without someone else breathing down her neck and imposing decisions and life-threatening missions on her.

She pulled herself off the floor and pressed her ear to the elevator door, listening for any sign of life. After determining there was probably no one on the other side, she pressed the only button on the inside of the elevator, hoping it would work. The door slid open with just as much noise as she remembered. She feared it might attract someone to come and check on her, but no one appeared to drag her back down to her glass coffin. She was alone.

Without thinking, she ran for the front door, her naked feet smacking the linoleum and her hands outstretched to push the door open. It was locked. Once her heart calmed down, she realized it was probably for the best. A woman with her mouth sewed shut would attract attention and Pan would capture her without difficulty. Besides, there was no saying what lied beyond those doors.

The windows were covered with newspapers but she could tell it was dark outside. Perhaps, once Maleficent was out of the cave, they could venture outside together. It would be safer if they moved at night.

Belle turned and looked at the room. She'd hoped her library would, at the very least, incite a familiar feeling, something comforting, but it didn't. This place looked nothing like the library Belle had left behind. The entire room was clearly abandoned and in much worse shape than when she'd first seen it a few months back. At least in Regina's curse, the bookshelves were still standing and filled with stories that Storybrooke had no access to. This time, the bookshelves had been shoved to the darkest corner of the library, along with her desk and the table people were going to use for research.

She came closer. If perhaps she could salvage a scrap piece of paper it might make communicating easier. She soon realized there was nothing there to salvage, though. Metal, wood, and paper all blended together in the dark, forming a massive shape, like that of a sleeping dragon – and hiding right behind it, there was an hourglass.

Belle didn't like the sight of it. It sat on a pile of skulls that, she noticed with some relief, were carved out of rock, which didn't make them any less ominous. The sand that seeped through the hourglass was golden and it was brighter than the fire of Maleficent's torch, being enough to illuminate the entire floor. The shelves and books and tables were barely able to conceal it. People were bound to see the glow from the streets but she understood how the curse worked. The people outside the door would be living out their routines without really thinking about these strange, out of the ordinary things.

She approached the hourglass to take a good look at it. On the glass, she noticed her distorted reflection, wearing the blue gown she'd had on the day she'd escaped the hospital, with Jefferson's help. More than anything, that made her want to cry. Pan's curse hadn't just silenced her and condemned her to a life in the dark, he'd taken away every part of her that made her who she was and returned her to that mindless ghost she'd been for twenty eight years. Except that, now, she was aware of her own insignificance and helplessness. The woman she could see before her couldn't save anyone.

From the elevator, came the sound of her own name, loud and angry. That brought her out of her conjectures and back to reality.

_Well, you can rescue someone..._

Belle returned to the elevator and paused in front of the control panel. Their positions were inverted now. Maleficent was the one in the coffin, and she was the one with the latch. Had this been the other way around and the witch had been given the chance to escape, Belle didn't think she'd be merciful enough to help her out of the cave. Besides, if Maleficent never got out, then there was no debt to pay.

_I should've said no. I cannot do this horrible thing._

She was a woman of her word, though.

Furthermore, she hadn't been granted a way out. She was just as trapped in this library with her quiet lips as she'd been down at the dragon's lair. This was not the time to make enemies, but rather allies. As dangerous as these allies might be.

She turned the lever and watched the elevator go down.

 

 

 

Maleficent stepped into the library looking rather underwhelmed by it but when the golden sand illuminated her face, Belle could see traces of relief that she could not hide.

“I'm glad to be working with an honorable woman, for a change,” she said, the closest to gratitude Belle would get. She passed Belle the rubber-soled shoes and then marched up to the hourglass while Belle put them on. “Now what is this contraption and what is it doing here?” she looked at Belle. “Was this here before?”

Belle shook her head.

She rapped at the glass with her knuckles. “This won't break easily, no, I don't think this is the way to breaking the curse. It's never that easy.”

Belle looked at the hourglass. Scary or not it was a magnificent piece of work. The sand that accumulated at the bottom made a larger pile than that that slipped from the top.

Belle frowned.

The sand wasn't slipping. It was frozen. There was a slither of golden grains flowing from one part to the other, but that was stuck in time, just like the rest of town. Despite being in the dark, Belle knew that this thing was important. Essential, even, though she couldn't really explain how.

Belle hummed, asking for her attention. When Maleficent looked at her, she pointed at the sand that should be falling to the bottom of the hourglass but instead hung in the air, immobile.

“Oh, so it seems,” Maleficent agreed. “This thing is definitely important. Now, I'm not very knowledgeable about the Land Without Magic, being that I was stuck under this miserable place for nearly thirty years, but my guess is that this came from Pan.”

Belle nodded.

“Yes, and it must mean something to him if he wanted to bring it along.”

When she fell silent, considering her options, Belle hummed again and made a broad, questioning gesture at her.

“Are you asking me for a plan?” she asked, receiving a nod for an answer. “We just got out of that cave, my dear. It's going to take more than five minutes and a magical hourglass for me to come up with something.” She looked at the windows. “I don't count on Pan knowing the faces of everyone in this town but I know he'll notice us if we both show up like this.”

Belle wouldn't have argued if she could. Maleficent had a point. Between her hospital gown and the other woman's ragged appearance, they'd only attract attention, day or night.

“We need another place to hide, this clearly won't do. If this is truly precious, then Pan will come and check on it.”

Belle, who knew this place inside and out, showed Maleficent a side door. It should take them to the staircase that led to her apartment and the clock tower. Or at least it would, had it not been predictably locked.

“He'll notice if we break anything,” Maleficent said. When Belle stared at her, she sighed. “No, I have no other ideas.”

And, in a swift movement, she pulled a piece of metal loose from one of the twisted and broken bookshelves and used it to smash the knob.

“After you.”

They left the door closed, and even though Belle was sure the slightest breeze would push it open, perhaps it could fool Pan for a couple of days. The door was far enough into the room that he might not notice it.

Stepping out into the hallway set her heart racing. This wasn't freedom but it was close enough. Beyond them, another door stood ajar, this one leading to the streets. Belle took Maleficent's hand and led her to the opposite direction, up a stairway to the second floor. Maleficent didn't seem to mind.

If the library was that abandoned, then her home should be too.

 _If the safe survived,_ she thought, _then this is going to be much easier. If only Rumple's magic was strong enough..._

There was no number on the door, but the picture she'd hang on the wall was still there. A vintage world map of this realm. Rumple had given that to her and Belle had added a blue pin to all the places she wanted to see once they could leave Storybrooke.

“I think you're just marking the places that have famous libraries,” Rumple had said, watching her pin down Vienna and Buenos Aires.

Belle had told him, “There are worse reasons to travel,” and Rumple had promised to take her to all the libraries she'd like to see someday.

That had been two weeks ago. Looking at that map felt like looking at a relic from a long lost past, a part of someone else's life.

“This is just above that damn hourglass, we can't stay here,” Maleficent said.

Belle wanted to say that this was the caretaker's apartment, no one was supposed to be in here and it was so small she doubted Pan would have an interest in it. It was inconsequential and easy to hide in.

She tried to convey all of that with a nod. _Trust me_.

Maleficent didn't seem happy about it but they didn't have a better option at the moment. She looked for the knob on the door only to find a hole in its place. Belle took that as a good sign.

Maleficent walked in first, claiming that a girl with stitches on her mouth was more complicated to explain than a woman who'd just wandered through the wrong door.

She screamed when glass shattered just beside her head.

“Get outta here!” a man shouted, drunkenly. “This spot's taken!”

Belle recognized that voice and barged in before she had the time to think whether that was a good idea or not.

Huddled in the corner, hiding under blankets and the stench of alcohol, was Dreamy.

 

 

 

This place had once been her home but there was nothing left of it now. Her furniture was gone and the window to the main street was boarded shut, only a sliver of orange light leaked into the living room. Dreamy was lying just underneath it, but even he didn't resemble the man she knew at all. Despite his grumpy disposition, Dreamy had never looked this hopeless before. His black beard had grown to his chest and turned gray ( _How long have I been asleep?_ ) and his eyes looked red and unfocused.

He grumbled at the sound of the door being forced open and suddenly there was a flashlight pointing at her face. Belle didn't have time to cover her mouth before Dreamy started screaming. It was a hysterical sound that was bound to attract attention. Those walls were too thin and who was to say there weren't other people in the next room? He did have six brothers, after all.

Maleficent, always proactive, stepped into the room – it was small enough to cross in two strides – and snatched the flashlight out of his hand. The gesture was so abrupt and violent that Dreamy shut up immediately, staring at her with terrified, drunken eyes.

“You're going to be quiet now,” she said, in the dangerous voice she'd used with Belle.

Dreamy's eyes flickered at Belle but couldn't stand the sight of her for more than a second before looking away.

“What was in that beer?” he muttered to himself.

Maleficent turned around and examined the place under the flashlight.

“Come in and close the door,” she told Belle. “And watch your step. There's broken glass everywhere.”

Belle kept her back to the wall as Maleficent scavenged the room. At least downstairs she could see what was left of the bookshelves and the books; in here, there was nothing left of her. The room was full of dust and broken glass. Empty cans and bottles were scattered about. In the corner, Dreamy was lying on top of newspapers and dirty rags. She wondered what had happened to all of her possessions. Had they ended up in someone else's home? The books, the cozy cushions, the blanket that Granny had knitted herself as a housewarming gift. Her precious shoes. In only a few weeks she'd collected an impressive number of them. She wished she could have at least one pair left. And decent clothes to wear. And makeup that would take that dead look from her face and perhaps help hide the hideous stitches.

In his corner, Dreamy was staring at her now, his initial horror replaced by morbid curiosity.

“What happened to her?” he asked.

Maleficent didn't look up from the kitchen she was inspecting. There were leftovers of what seemed to have been a tuna sandwich. When she picked what was left of the loaf of bread, Dreamy protested, “Hey! That's mine!” and shot up to his feet.

Maleficent pointed the flashlight at him as if it were a sword. “Sit down.”

“You sit down!” he replied, drunkenly. “This is my house and that is my food!”

“I doubt this dreadful place is yours. Most houses I know have a lock.”

“Well, I got here first, sister! If you wish to squat somewhere, you better find another place!”

“Perhaps it is you who needs to leave.”

She advanced, towering over him. Dreamy was clearly intimidated by her poise but didn't back down. Belle started thinking, Maleficent was the kind of woman who would stab someone to get what she wanted. Magic or no magic, Dreamy wouldn't stand a chance if she decided he was too much of a nuisance.

She hummed loudly. When that got no result, she kicked a nearby can. It rattled away and Dreamy turned. Maleficent kept her eyes on him. Belle slid to her knees as carefully as she could and fumbled in the dark. The hardwood floor underneath her fingertips was creaky where it used to be polished and firm, so it took her a moment to find the right board.

“What the hell is she doing? Who are you people?” Dreamy asked, eyes going from Belle to Maleficent, utterly confused.

The floor board came loose and she held her breath. When she saw the money in the dark, she could've cried. They had been given a break.

Rumple had insisted that she took his money and put it somewhere safe, in case anything terrible ever happened again. She was too proud to accept more than a couple thousand, and even so, she'd promised that she'd never use it. He'd enchanted that compartment so that she would be the only one able to open it, no one else could do it, not even him. Pan's magic was no exception to the rule, it seemed.

Dreamy started asking, “What the hell are you-” when she produced a roll of bills from the floor. Even in the dark and even after what seemed to have been a few bottles of beer, he knew what that was.

“What the- how did you- where did you get that?”

Maleficent looked at her, confused for the first time, unsure of what Belle had done to warrant such response from the drunken man.

Belle straightened up and freed a bill from the roll. One hundred dollars, dusty and crinkled but worth just as much. She offered it to Dreamy and he snatched it off her hand quickly.

“Very well,” Maleficent said, understanding the situation, “now that you have your... paper... you can leave.”

Dreamy looked at the money in Belle hands and said, “It's going to be double for the night. It's two of you, after all.”

“Very well. She will pay you, and then you can leave.”

Dreamy looked at her, expectantly. Belle looked at Maleficent.

“Hey Sister, I don't have all night!” Dreamy protested.

Maleficent said, “Give us a moment.”

“We agreed on two-”

“We agreed on nothing, and if you wish to keep that, you will do as I say.”

Dreamy grumbled but stepped outside, his walk unsteady.

Maleficent stepped up to her and took the money from her hands. “What is this thing?”

Belle tried to get it back but she held it beyond her reach and said, “Oh, this is precious. Like gold.”

Belle nodded.

Maleficent stared at it for a moment, then returned it to Belle. “You might as well be the one in charge of it. I have no idea how to use it. Give the man another and let us be rid of him.”

She tried to turn around and Belle held her in place.

“What is it?”

She cocked her head at the door, Dreamy waiting on the other side of it.

“Yes?”

Belle twisted her hands in frustration, unable to explain what she wanted to say. She pointed again.

“Yes, that man. Do you know him?”

Nod.

“A friend?”

Nod.

“But he doesn't remember you,” she whispered. “I think it's safe to assume no one does. His curse must have erased everyone's memories. Perhaps Pan wanted you to keep yours.”

Belle thought of the memory potion she'd taken but decided that was too much to explain through mime. Instead, she pointed again, and then touched her temple.

“He... is he smart? Uh... he... remembers? He... knows?”

Nod.

“Knows what?”

She motioned at everything.

“You mean... he knows what's happening in town? He might have information?”

Nod.

Maleficent looked at the door, then back at her. Belle pointed a single finger at her stitches, then motion at Maleficent's clothes.

“I see. And how do you know he can be trusted? How do you know he won't tell someone about us and send us right back to where we started?”

Belle held up the money. This was all the encouragement he was going to need.

Maleficent thought about it, then concluded, “We're running out of options.”

Dreamy was asked back inside. Belle thought he might have run but the promise of another hundred-dollar bill kept him loyal.

“So? Where's my money?” he demanded.

“There's been a change of plans. We don't need you to leave.”

His hand closed protectively around the one hundred dollars that had already been given to him.

“You can keep what she's given you, but I have a different proposition.”

“Yeah?”

“I need an errand boy.”

“And how much does an errand boy make?”

“Depends on how discreet he can be. If he were to run to town, spreading rumors about the two women living above the library, he wouldn't be making much.”

“I can keep a secret, sister.”

“Good. I will need a dress.”

Belle cleared her throat.

“And she will need a dress too,” she added.

Dreamy looked at her. “She might need something to take those off.”

“Don't waste your time, they're not coming off.”

Belle felt her heart sink.

“You need dresses,” Dreamy repeated. “And a carriage for the ball, I suppose.”

“We do not require a carriage, and we surely won't be attending any balls. We also require food, something better than an old loaf of bread. Now off you go.”

Dreamy stared at her. “It's the middle of the night.”

“So?”

“So... everything is closed. Except the bar, and if you excuse me- hey!”

Maleficent snatched the money out of his hand. “You will get no more spirits until you've sobered up.”

“Sobered up! That was not part of the-”

“You may drink at your heart's content once we're gone. I need you sober for my questions.”

“What questions?”

“The ones I'll ask tomorrow morning and I need you to have a clear head.”

He growled. “And after that, do I get my-”

“You get your paper back once you've answered our questions, dwarf.”

“My name is Leroy and I am not a dwarf!”

“You smell like one.”

“Bitch.”

Maleficent's eyes sparkled in the dark. Belle hummed again, motioning for her to calm down. The last thing they needed was a dead body to hide.

“Very well, Leroy,” she said, speaking his name with as much contempt as she spoke Belle's. “You'll get your money once you've sobered up.”

“Fine.”

“And if you ever call me that again,” Maleficent warned him, leaning closer to his face, “I don't care what she says, I'll kick you out of this home – through that window.”

He answered, “Whatever,” but was quick to leave the blast zone of those eyes. He went back to his corner.

“Where do we sleep?”

“Wherever you want. I don't care.”

Maleficent looked at Belle. “The cave was cozier than this.”

 _Feel free to go back there_.

Belle took her to the other room, which had once been her bedroom but that now was just as barren and filthy as the rest of the apartment. At least there were no broken bottles here.

“This will do. Give me the paper,” Maleficent said. Under her mistrustful eyes, she added, “I'm not going to steal it. I wouldn't know what to do with it. But he's more likely to try to steal it from you than from me.”

Reluctantly, she agreed and passed the money over.

After using the bathroom – filthy and grimy and nothing like the one she'd had in another life – Belle huddled herself under the bedroom window and rested her head against the wall. Maleficent did the same, though Belle could hear her breathing, sharp and dragon-like, aware of everything around her.

She fell asleep with the terrible realization that Pan had turned a dear friend into a shadow of himself, and that he'd erased her identity completely. People he'd never met and had no qualms with had been treated with the utmost cruelty. What had he done to Rumple, who he apparently hated above everything else?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A picspam for this fic can be found here: http://annievh.tumblr.com/post/138249087467/the-new-neverland-regina-fails-to-stop-pan-and-he


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